
^iSfe^ 



Ur^ 



Mi:. 



m^ 




Class JES2£il_^ 
Roolc Av^ " ■ 
Gopyriglit N" 



CORMGHT DEPOSm 




But the little brook still flows along 
And sings the sanne sweet happy sonj 



POEMS 
FOR ALL CLASSES 



BY 
JOHN FRANKLIN BAIR 



AUTHOR OF 

"The Andrews Raid" 

"Lines To The Boys Of The Spanish 
American War" 

"Poetical Works" 

"A Double Discovery" (Prose) 

"Complete Poetical Works" 



CLEVELAND. OHIO 
1922 



r 0^ 






.^' 



COPYRIGHT 1922 

BY 

JOHN FRANKLIN BAIR 



Ml]!. 29!922 
©CI.A()8118 9 



DEDICATION 

To my three beloved children, 

Mildred Irene, Russell Franklin, Laura LaVern, 

and to the memory of my departed son, 

John Raymond, 
this volume is affectionately dedicated. 



Ill 



PREFACE 

THE poems contained in this volume have been written un- 
der various, and in many instances difficult conditions. 
I ask my friends, who have been inquiring for years as to 
when my next book was going to appear, to remember that 
for the last twenty-four years I have been a busy Pastor, and 
could give only a very limited amount of time to literary 
work. Remember, also, that I and my wife have been bring- 
ing up a family of three children. Often have I settled down 
in my study to write a poem, only to be interrupted by a gen- 
tle knock at my door, followed by a child's question, "Papa 
are you busy?" Or, sometimes it would be my wife's voice, 
calling from the foot of the stairway, informing me that she 
must have certain articles from the store. Or, perhaps, it 
was one of my members who called to inform me that Mr. 

B had died. Then I must drop everything and prepare a 

funeral sermon. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, vv^ho was a phy- 
sician as well as a poet, said, "A man who writes poetry 
should not write prescriptions." Perhaps I might also say 
that, a man who writes poetry should not write sermons. 
However, I believe I can truly say that my sermons have not 
suffered on account of my poems. On the contrary, I believe 
they have added spice to them. I have appreciated the many 
letters which I have received from readers of my former 
works, telling me of the enjoyment which they derived from 
reading them. 

It is with the hope that all will derive even more enjoy- 
ment from this work, that the author now presents "Poems 
For All Classes" to the public. 

Mineral vCity, Ohio, July 4, 1921. 



CONTENTS 



I 

Sentiment and Thought. 

PAGE 

The fate of the poet 1 

Enjoyin the fruits of one's labors 3 

The slaughter of the innocents 4 

Which was the rich man 5 

Midnight in June 7 

Do what you can 8 

Wandering in the wilderness 9 

Thots from an old poem 10 

A wet June 11 

Think I'll vote fer Mister Booster 12 

The little white church 13 

My birthplace 15 

A beam of sunshine in February 16 

A scene most sweet 17 

We'll store the old high chair away 18 

Bring out the old high chair 20 

The scold 20 

Matrimony, a parable 22 

Oh they are all good fellows 24 

The home of my Grand-parents 25 

Will the world have been made better because I lived in it 27 

To the boys of the Class of '97 28 

My fiftieth birthday 29 

An "If" for boys 32 

II 

Farm Life. 

Pat and the melon 34 

Fourth of July in the country 36 

The old Hick'ry Swing 37 

A Newlin huckle-berry party 39 

The mosquito band 41 

vli 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The wheat 42 

In the hayfield 43 

The farmer's companions 45 

A ten year old boy's song in June 48 

The old way and the new 49 

The sly gray squirrel 51 

An old teacher and student meet after thirty years 53 

III 

War Poems. 

dove of peace, where hast thou flown 57 

A parting blessing to our soldier boys 59 

Christmas Day, 1917 61 

The Kaiser's sentence 63 

A young soldier's wife's song to her babe 65 

Yankee Doodle, with modern improvements 67 

The trial and execution of Edith Cavell 68 

The soldier's mother 70 

How Tom Brown views the v;ar 71 

We'll pay our debt to Lafayette 73 

The Kaiser's doom 75 

Little Nan's complaint 76 

Prayer for our sick soldiers 76 

How can we pray for the Kaiser? 77 

How about Dad? 77 

The thrilling message 79 

IV 

Nature's Beauties 

Song of the snowflakes 81 

A street scene in winter 82 

The Allegheny Mountains 84 

When the blue-birds northward fly 85 

To the March wind 86 

A free moving picture show 87 

viil 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Evening 88 

The lovely sunrise 89 

Flowers of Spring 91 

The black-birds 92 

When the flowers show their faces 93 

V 

Humorous Poems 

Why he came to the Parson 95 

House cleaning 96 

The fooler fooled 98 

My neighbors plight 99 

A dutchman's eulogy of Washington 101 

The Englishman's dilemma 103 

Three Dutchmen who could each speak one sentence in 

English 104 

Sam Steele's Durham Bull 105 

There'd be no use fer lawyers if all folks lived like us. . . .106 

The two congressmen 108 

Barbary Frigerator 110 

Backwoods Jim's lecture to the High School students. . . .112 

VI 

Poems For Children. 

The goblins round my bed 115 

The polywog 116 

The prettiest girl I ever saw 117 

The boys' thanksgiving day 118 

Farmer Ringer's gander 119 

Two girls I know 120 

Pond lilies 121 

My black playmate 122 

What I saw on the big road 123 

My Ma's griddle cakes 124 

In boyhood days 125 

Caw, cav/ ! yaw, yaw ! 126 

Little things 126 

Ix 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

When me an Lucy runned away 127 

Too bad 129 

If it wei-en't f er washin the dishes 129 

How my sin found me out 130 

The yaller jacket's nest 132 

The hornet's nest 133 

How I ketched a bumblebee 134 

The bull frog 135 

A great day is coming 136 

When I disobeyed my pa 137 

The Sai'ves-Berry tree 139 

What the tools said 140 

When I first saw my sister in a white dress 141 

The moonlight shadows round my bed 143 

The wonderful things I saw 144 

What the wind can do 145 

VII 

In Memoriam. 

Theodore Roosevelt 146 

Rev. W. J. Miller, D.D 147 

Clara Barton 148 

Margaret E. Sangster 149 

Will Carleton 150 

John Greenleaf Whittier 152 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 153 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 155 

Abraham Lincoln 157 

VIII 

Poems To James Whitcome Riley. 

To James Whitcomb Riley 159 

When the frost is on the winder 160 

Apple Picking 162 

In memory of James Whitcomb Riley 164 



CONTENTS 

IX 

Patriotic Poems. 

PAGE 

The Fourth of July, 1776 166 

An Insane Fourth, How Long? 168 

Surrender of Cornwallis 170 

Our Pilgrim Fathers 171 

X 

Religious Poems. 

My last journey 173 

The blessings of affliction 174 

Sweet communion 174 

Contentment 175 

John, The Baptist, compared with Traveling Evangelists 

of today 175 

That home of endless day 177 



Good Bye 179 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

In Boyhood days Frontis-piece 

William Rarig's Team of Grays 39 



xi 



lenfirqeat al^t) ©I^ougftt 



THE FATE OF THE POET. 

There once was a poet, a man of great fame, 

Who for many years was treated with shame ; 

Men said he was crazy because he wrote verse, 

They hooted and jeered him, and what was still worse, 

The books that he published they never would buy 

But jeered him and mocked him whene'er he came nigh ; 

But though they derided, he still bravely stayed 

Right by his vocation though little he made. 

Although many treated that good man with shame. 
He kept writing verses for years just the same; 
His dear wife and children were all plainly clad. 
His neighbors beheld them and said, '"Tis too bad 
That Nathan keeps writing and growing so poor, 
If he'd take up some other vocation I'm sure 
His wife would go much better clad and instead 
Of being half starved they would all be well fed."- 

But Nathan kept striving, and said, '"Tis no crime 
For me to write verses, I'll yet win in time" ; 
And his gentle sweet wife encouraged him too, 
And said, "My dear Nathan, you'll yet get your due" ; 
'Twas a struggle indeed, but at last came the day 
When his books brought to him an abundance of pay, 
And neighbors no longer would jeer him and guy, 
But greeted him kindly whene'er he passed by. * 

1 



2 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

He lived to be old and after he died 
The school children stood by his casket and cried, 
And men who had jeered him before came that day 
And brought wreathes of flowers to tenderly lay 
On the lid of his casket, and said, "Blessed be 
That dear good old man, the sweet memory 
Of him and his works shall e'er with us stay, 
And while time shall last shall ne'er pass away." 

Dear friends, there are poets still living today, 

Who, like that dear man, are getting poor pay 

For the eflforts they make in order to give 

Rich food for the brain, some scarcely can live 

On the meagre returns, I pray you give heed 

To the poets when young, for your help then they need; 

Don't wait till they die and then gently lay 

Sweet flowers upon them, but give them today. 

How often we see sums lavishly spent 
In erecting a ponderous, tall monument 
In memory of a poet who when 
He labored on earth was a jest among men ; 
But after he died they all freely gave 
Toward erecting a monument over his grave ; 
But such is the fate of the poet, so there. 
Young poets keep striving and do not despair. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 



ENJOYIN THE FRUITS OF ONE'S LABORS. 

When the taters have been gethered from the rows out in 

the patch, 
And the bins down in the cellar are a swelHn with the 

batch 
That we've gethered in fer winter, and the golden apples 

too. 
In the boxes look invitin, where we've piled up quite a 

few. 
And the wheat that's in the garner and the corn and oats 

and all 
That we've stored to feed the bosses and the cattle in the 

stall ; 
When our crops have all been gethered we can just sit 

down and read, 
Knowin we have been provided with all food that we will 

need. 

After one has toiled all summer at hard work upon his 

farm. 
He can sit and read his paper, by his hearthstone bright 

and warm. 
With a lot of satisfaction, fer he knows that he has 

earned 
Ev'ry solitary dollar that into his coffers turned ; 
And he knows that he's entitled fer to rest in winter time, 
Fer he's worked and slaved all summer plowin fields and 

scatterin lime, 
And although the cold December winds may blow and rip 

and tare, 
He well knows that he's provided with all things and 

need not care. 



POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



There's, of course, some lazy farmers who won't never 

dig nor scratch, 
Who allow the weeds and briars to grow up in ev'ry 

patch. 
Who, when winter's frosts come freezin, sit and grumble 

at their lot. 
And will envy their good nayburs of the stores that they 

have got; 
But they're not the least deservin of a person's sympathy. 
He, who does not toil in summer, let him sit in poverty, 
And go hungry durin winter, let him shiver, let him 

prance. 
For he wouldn't earn a livin at the time he had a chance. 

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. 

What Sunday School boy or girl, who, when told 
That story of cruel King Herod of old, 
How the poor little innocent babies he killed. 
Is not with contempt and bitterness filled 
For that heartless tyrant, and sympathy, too. 
For all the poor mothers who had to pass through 
That trying ordeal ? Curse that tyrant ! we say, 
But are there not many such tyrants today? 

Take the man who comers the market for grain 
Or other foodstuffs, and thereby will drain 
All the resources of the poor of the land. 
In the sight of his God, he also will stand 
A tyrant as cruel as Herod who slew 
The innocent children, for he, daily, too, 
Is slaying the innocent who cannot buy 
The food which is sold at prices so high. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 



But the God who looked down on Bethlehem then 

And let fall his wrath on such cruel men, 

Is looking down on our tyrants today, 

And sooner or later they also will pay 

The penalty for their tyrannical deed 

Of depriving the poor of the things that they need ; 

When the trumpet shall sound upon that great day, 

Such tyrants in teror will all flee away, 

Away to the mountains, and to them will cry, 
O mountains fall on us, hide us from the eye 
Of the Judge of all nations and kindred and land, 
'Tis the day of his wrath, who'll be able to stand? 
But 'twill be too late to cry to him then, 
Now's the time to repent, O oppresor of men, 
Go feed the poor innocents whom you've oppressed, 
And the God of all mercy will give your soul rest ! 



WHICH WAS THE RICH MAN? 

Give me your hand old comrade, and is it really Jack? 
Well, haint I glad to see you, say, when did you come 

back 
From Colerado, is it ? the place where you have been 
For twenty-five long years now, and you've been diggin 

in 
Them tough ole Rocky Mountains, a huntin after gold, 
You must have found a heap, too, leastwise I have been 

told 
You're worth two hundred thousand, while I am well 

nigh dead 
From toilin as a miller and hain't ten cents ahead. 



6 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

How many children have you ? what, never married, now, 
I haint heaped up the thousands, but I feel that somehow 
I'm richer far than you are, I have six children, one 
Has been away to college where he grand work has done ; 
He's goin to be a preacher, it fills me with delight 
That he chose that profession, and he is worth a site 
More than the gold you've gethered in all the years you've 

been 
Out in them Rocky Mountains a knockin your pick in. 

There's Jenny, she's just lovely, she's now almost nine- 
teen, 

And you nowhere can find them better than her, I ween ; 

For two years she's been teachin the public school, and she 

Is liked by all her scholars and gits on splendidly ; 

There's John and George out yonder, they're treed a 
coon, I vow, 

The youngest were twin sisters, they're jist five years 
old now ; 

You have your hundred thousands, but you'll admit 'tis 
true, 

When I declare that I, sir, am richer far than you. 

I'd rather work my nails off to make a livin for 

A fam'ly big as mine, sir, than be a bachelor ; 

You've worked for that ere gold, sir, till you are old and 

gray. 
Soon you will be a dyin, and then your friends will lay 
You in a handsome casket and plant you in the ground. 
And then it will be published these words. It has been 

found 
Jack left two hundred thousand, but died without an heir, 
Strangers will git your money, and none for you they'll 

care. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 



MIDNIGHT IN JUNE. 

I rose from my bed at midnight, 
On a calm, still night in June ; 

I saw, shining in through the window. 
The lovely rays of the moon. 

Then I leaned out of the window 
And beheld the glories of night, 

The trees, with their spreading branches, 
Reflecting the bright moonlight. 

I noted the gloomy shadows 
Beneath the large maple trees. 

And heard a soft low murmur. 
Caused by the gentle breeze. 

I gazed for a moment, enchanted, 
Viewing the beautiful scene. 

So quiet, so still, I murmured. 
How blissful, how serene! 

Then down in the shining meadows, 
I saw the cows and the sheep. 

Upon the soft, dewy grasses. 
All lying fast asleep. 

And far away in the distance. 

Upon a high steep hill. 
So gloomy, dark and solemn. 

The forest tall and still. 

I saw the old mill below it, 

I heard the gurgling sound 
Of the rushing mountain brooklet 

That made the wheel go round. 



POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



I saw the waving wheatfields, 
With many a well filled head 

Which grew to make the flour 
Which gives us daily bread. 

I laid me down and pondered 
O'er all those things I saw, 

And said, with deep devotion. 
How wondrous is God's law ! 

DO WHAT YOU CAN. 

Say not within your heart, I see 
No chance in this broad world for me, 
And sit not down to fret and whine 
Because you think you ne'er shall shine 
Before the world as others do; 
Fret not, for there's a place for you. 
The little star, that shines on high, 
Does not make bright the entire sky. 
But should each little star complain 
Because all heaven's great domain 
Is not made bright by its small ray. 
And for that cause should fret and say. 
Because these brilliant rays of mine 
Do not reach all, I'll cease to shine. 
The heavens all o'ercast would be 
With gloom and darkness, none could 
The beautiful and radiant Hght 
Which gladdens many hearts at night. 
I, in this world am but a star, 
My light may not extend as far 
Into the dark world's gloom as some, 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 



Who through the world may go and come, 
But God has given me some work 
To do, my task I will not shirk; 
I'm one small star in his great plan, 
Therefore, I'll do the best I can. 



WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Like the Israelites of yore, 
We have wanderers at our door; 
Here they wander to and fro, 
In the wilderness of woe. 

Round and round and round they gc 
In the same old route so slow, 
Grumbling, growling all the day, 
Wasting, wasting time away. 

In their sad and weary plight, 
They are murmuring day and night. 
Managing to blame some one 
For what they themselves have done. 

Men will offer them to lead, 
But to such they give no heed. 
Though they weep and mourn and cry, 
They in ignorance will die. 

When at last they see the day, 
They from earth must pass away, 
Then they'll say, with much chagrin 
Different it might have been. 



10 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Ah, alas, how many see 
Their folly, when too late it be! 
But 'twill do no good to fret 
For that which they did not get. 

Let the young a warning take 
From their folly, and awake 
To the opportunities 
Which within their pathway lies. 

® g) ® 

THOTS FROM AN OLD POEM. 

Alone inside my study wall, 
I sat and mused, the fam'ly all 
Had gone to make a friendly call 

On good old Mother Brown ; 
I took a text on which to base 
My Sunday theme, noted the place, 
Then rose and from an old book-case. 

Took a large volume down. 

A book of poems, one which she. 
My precious wife, had given me, 
I opened it, hoping to see 

Some lines appropriate 
Unto my text, I might infuse 
Into my talk, we preachers use 
Quotations which we often choose. 

Our themes to illustrate. 

I chanced upon a poem old. 

The author's name was Hannah Gould, 

In which she reverently told 

How she wrote in the sand, 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 11 

Upon the ocean shore, her name, 
And how soon afterwards there came 
A wave and soon destroyed the same 
Which she wrote with her hand. 

The poem was a short one, yet, 
I ne'er shall throughout life forget 
The deep impression made, it set 

My mind to thinking how 
We mortal creatures often stand 
Upon life's ocean's barren strand. 
And place our hopes in sinking sand 

Through which sin's waves oft plow. 

I pondered o'er what I had read. 

Then clasped my hands and bowed my head, 

And from my heart this prayer I said, 

"Dear Savior, Lord and King; 
From thy bright fold, ne'er let me stray, ' 
Guide me within the narrow way. 
And grant that I through life each day 

To thee may ever cling." 



A WET JUNE 

If James Russell Lowell were living today. 

And would, write about June, he doubtless would say, 

As he wrote to the daily rain falling tune, 

O what is so rare as sunshine in June ? 

Wherever we look and whenever we listen. 

We hear the rainfall and see the drops glisten ; 

Ev'ry clod in the road is turned to fine mud. 

Pedestrians plod by with a splash and a thud; 

The sweet little bird's shining coat is all wet 



12 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

As he seeks for stray worms he may happen to get, 
While his mate sits upon her nest up so high 
And endeavors to keep her eggs warm and dry. 
There has been very Httle dry weather this June, 
And it sets us to wondering whether we soon 
Shall have such a bright and beautiful day 
As that Brother Lowell speaks of in his lay ; 
But we will not murmur although the rains fall, 
For God, who is love, still reigns over all ; 
.So we will let no dark clouds overspread 
Our faces, but let us make sunshine instead 
With sweetest of smiles let us shed brilliant light. 
And make ev'iy home all cheerful and bright. 

June 1, 1916. 



THINK I'LL VOTE FER MISTER BOOSTER. 

Mr. Booster's out fer Congress, he's been runnin round 

all fall, 
Lectioneerin mong the voters, he's been callin on us all ; 
He's a very slick tongued feller and he sez he'll do a heap 
That will benefit us farmers who engage in raisin sheep; 
I know nothin wrong about him, know'd him since he 

was a lad, 
And to tell the truth I never heerd him say a word that's 

bad; 
He has had a hard time of it, fer his father he was poor. 
And he never gave him money fer to squander I am sure. 

Yes, Mister Booster's honest as fur as I can tell, 
And if he should be elected, he might sarve us very well ; 
But the trouble with them fellers that we think are just 
all right, 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 13 

When they get down there to Congress, never will put up 

a fight 
Fer us ole clodhopper farmers, but will often sell their 

votes 
To them great big corporations and them beer and whisky 

bloats ; 
But while they're a lectioneerin, they big promises will 

make, 
Then we foolishly vote fer them, and find out they are a 

fake. 

But I ruther like young Booster, knowed his father very 

well, 
And there's sunthin kind o tells me that he's not the kind 

to sell 
Out to any corporation but will stand up fer the right. 
And fer poor as well as wealthy will put up a rousing 

fight; 
So I kinder think I'll likely vote fer him on lection day, 
And if he does win the office, I believe he'll make it pay 
Fer the farmer in this deestrict, course he may turn out 

untrue. 
But I'll risk my vote upon him, then we'll see what he 

will do. 

THE LITTLE WHITE CHURCH. 

When David forth from his palace was driven 

By Absalom, his disobedient son. 
He wept as he crossed o'er the Valley of Kedron, 

Because of the act that rash youth had done. 



14 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

On Olivet's slopes he stood, while beholding 
The city from which he in terror had fled, 

He thought of the place in which he had worshipped 
While tears from his eyes in torrents were shed. 

In agony of his soul he there murmured, 

"My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for thee. 

The courts of the Lord," but his own son was standing 
A rock of offence, from whom he must flee. 

By business I had from my own home been driven. 
From scenes of my boyhood, the valley so fair, 

From the little white church in the village of Mill Grove, 
To take up a life of trials and care. 

As I worked in a bank and over books worried, 
And wore a deep look of concern on my face. 

The shadows would often depart when the thots of 
My dear boyhood home, in my heart found a place. 

I would think of the house, of the barn and the pigpen, 
Of the brook of clear water that gurgled close by. 

The stile and the snake fence, the springhouse and corn- 
crib 
And swallows which through the old red barn would 

fly- 

I fancied again that I tasted the apples 

Which in the old orchard abundantly grew ; 

And dined on the fish which from the clear water, 
I with my stout line in large quantities drew. 

A vision I saw of myself again climbing 

The old chestnut tree which stood high on the hill, 

To shake down the nuts to my happy companions 
Who with the brown fruit ev'ry pocket would fill. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 15 

And then my thots turned to the white church at Mill 
Grove, 
Where mother first took me when I was quite small; 

All scenes of my boyhood were dear, but that building- 
Brings mem'ries to me that are dearer than all. 

As thots of those days spent there in my childhood, 

So vividly came back again unto me ; 
I cried in the words of David, the Psalmist, 

My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for thee! 

And thus as I onward pursue my life's journey, 
And mem'ries of those happy days come to me. 

And visions appear, there is none that is dearer 
Than that little white church, and never shall be. 



MY BIRTHPLACE. 

To me Westmoreland County 

Is the dearest spot on earth. 

For it was in her bosom 

That I was given birth ; 

Not in a costly mansion, 

But in a house of logs, 

Close by a little brooklet, 

Where croaked the green bull-frogs. 

That old house still is standing. 

Though covered now with boards ; 

To me fond recollections. 

It evermore affords; 

Quite often I pass by it, 

And ev'ry time I do, 

My heart is thrilled within me 

With pleasure through and through. 



16 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Old Greensburg then was little, 
But now she's large and grand, 
Made rich by her surrounding? 
The large tracts of coal land; 
Her large and costly mansions 
Are counted by the score, 
To me that makes no diff'rence. 
I love that old house more. 

Some people may despise it 
And think it a disgrace, 
But I am proud that I was 
Bom in that humble place; 
And I will ever cherish, 
No matter where I roam, 
The fondest recollections 
Of that, my childhood home. 



A BEAM OF SUNSHINE IN FEBRUARY 

When the sun beats down upon us on a bright day in July, 

Then we hunt the shady places, wipe our faces, then we 
sigh, 

O this hot and sultry weather, yet it does to us no harm. 

But brings to us many blessings, for the fruits upon the 
farm 

Would not ripen if the sun's rays were withdrawn, and 
we should die. 

For we'd never see a raincloud float above us in the sky ; 

Nor would corn nor wheat nor flowers, nor would fruits 
be seen to grow, 

And this world would be a dreary, barren desert here be- 
low. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 17 

Tho we sigh in summer season on account of scorching 
heat, 

In the month of February, 'tis a rich delightful treat, 

When the wind is blowing fiercely and the snowflakes 
whirl about, 

To behold the dark clouds parting and the sun's rays 
peeping out; 

Then the children are made happy when they see a sun- 
beam fall, 

And its bright reflection lighting on the carpet or the wall ; 

Do not grumble, little children, at the sun's fierce scorch- 
ing heat, 

For if it should cease its shining we would have no food 
to eat. 



A SCENE MOST SWEET 

In the room adjoining my study, 

On a neat little bed there lies 

A beautiful sweet little baby 

With eyes like the blue summer skies. 

The hands of the clock point eleven, 
'Tis late in the morning, 'tis true, 
But that darling baby's just waking, 
J\.nd a lovely scene comes to my view. 

She does not wake up with crying. 
But laughing and cooing with glee; 
When I come to her how she stretches 
Her sweet little hands out to me. 
2 



18 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

I take her up in my arms gently 
And say, "My sweet love, how are you' 
And the sweet darling's face brightly glistens 
As she answers me softly, "Agoo!" 

And I think, what a gift God has given 
To us, and the words Jesus said, 
"For of such is the kingdom of heaven," 
When he placed his hands on a child's head. 

And I silently breathe this petition, 
"Dear Jesus, our little ones take 
In Thine arms and give them Thy blessing 
That Thy Word they may never forsake." 

"In the path which leads up to heaven, 
Dear Lord ever guide their small feet. 
And bring them to heavenly mansions. 
Their Lord and Redeemer to greet." 



WE'LL STORE THE OLD HIGH CHAIR AWAY. 

There stands the old high-chair, Laura, 

Our baby's now past four. 
He's now so large he will not need 

His high-chair any more; 
When Mildred was a babe, Laura, 

We purchased it for her. 
And once she tumbled out of it, 

Did not that cause a stir? 

Then by and by a second babe, 

A bouncing bright boy came 
And brot more sunshine to our home, 

To whom we gave the name 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 19 

Of Russell, and that high-chair soon 

To him was given o'er, 
Now it appears that he, henceforth, 

Will need the chair no more. 

If our third child, dear Raymond, had 

But lived, we would today- 
Have no need to take up that chair 

And store it thus away ; 
But God willed that our darling should 

Early retire to rest, 
So we will bow to His decree, 

For He knows what is best. 

To store the chair away, Laura, 

Is sad indeed to me, 
The tears will come and yet I feel 

How thankful we should be 
That both our darlings have been spared 

To us, and that today. 
Because they are too large, we can 

Thus store the chair away. 

We'll store the chair away, Laura, 

We'll do it rev'rently. 
Not out of sight, but in a place 

Where we may often see 
That relic of those early days, 

When we, with tender care, 
Took up our darling babes and placed 

Them in that old high chair. 



20 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

BRING OUT THE OLD HIGH CHAIR. 

Bring out the old high-chair again, 

We need it now you see, 
For our La Vern is five months old, 

A darling babe is she ; 
She's strong enough to sit alone, 

Bring out the old high chair, 
'Twill bring great joy to all our hearts, 

To seat our darling there. 

O how it fills one's heart with joy 

To see her seated there, 
And that we have occasion thus 

To bring out that old chair ; 
God bless our darling little babe, 

May she grow up to be 
A woman filled with wisdom and 

Pure Christian charity. 

THE SCOLD. 

She scolds in early morning 

As soon as she gets up. 
She scolds while she is pouring 

The coffee in her cup ; 
She scolds while she is spreading 

Her butter on her bread, 
She scolds while she is sewing 

With needle and with thread; 
She scolds while she is making 

Her pudding or beef broth. 
She scolds while she is cutting 

A garment out of cloth ; 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 21 

She scolds if her small children 

But walk across the floor, 
She scolds whene'er a neighboi 

Comes knocking at her door; 
She scolds whene'er the company, 

Expected, did not come, 
She scolds whene'er the street-car 

Goes by with buzz and hum; 
She scolds whene'er her husband 

Brings some one home to tea, 
And when alone, she scolds because 

She has no company; 
She scolds whene'er she washes 

And hangs out clothes to dry, 
She scolds because 'tis gloomy 

And clouds o'erspread the sky ; 
She scolds when she goes calling, 

About the sun's fierce heat, 
And when it rains, she always scolds 

Because she gets wet feet; 
She scolds whene'er her preacher 

Makes sermons rather long. 
And when the choir sweetly sings. 

She scolds about their song ; 
She scolds when morning's dawning, 

Because it is daylight. 
And when the day has ended, 

She scolds because 'tis night; 
She scolds when she is sleeping, 

While lying in her bed, 
Now some one has predicted 

She'll scold when she is dead. 



23 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

MATRIMONY, A PARABLE. 

Two trav'lers, one bright summer day, 
Together sauntered on their way ; 
Neither of them had traveled o'er 
That road at any time before. 

They traveled on, about midday 

A rapid stream lay in their way ; 

A bridge of rough hewn logs of wood, 

On piers of crumbling sandstone stood. 

"This bridge unsafe," a placard said, 
"You must cross o'er the bridge instead 
Up by the fiour mill at Brisque, 
If you cross here, 'tis at your risk." 

This warning both the trav'lers read, 
One, grumbling, to the other said, 
'T will not walk so far around, 
I've traveled o'er enough of ground !' 

"That bridge is strong enough, I vow, 
For me, I'll risk it anyhow; 
"You can go round, I'll brave it through, 
And I'll cross o'er before you do!" 

The other said, "You'd better take 
The warning, for no doubt you'll stake 
Your life, the supervisor knew 
His business better than you do!" 

But to entreaties he said, "No, 
Across that bridge I'm bound to go!" 
And so the trav'lers parted there. 
Now you shall hear how each did fare. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 23 

He who would not heed good advice, 
Walked on the bridge, and in a trice, 
Its rotton beams and planks gave way. 
And he, pinned fast, all helpless lay. 

Meanwhile, the other trav'ler sped 
On toward the solid bridge ahead. 
He reached it and crossed safely o'er 
Then walked along the other shore. 

Soon he beheld his comrade's plight, 
The sun had set, 'twas almost night; 
His comrade gave a piteous shout, 
"Have mercy, pard, come help me out." 

The man secured some help near by, 
Who, with small boats and rope and pry, 
Released him long about midnight, 
From his unpleasant awful plight. 

This story is a parable. 

Its meaning now to you I'll tell. 

So young men and young ladies, too, 

Give heed, the lesson is for you. 

The river, which so swiftly flowed. 
Is matrimony, and the road 
Which leads to it may be a route 
That's short and straight, or round about. 

It matters not which road you take, 
But one thing sure, unless you make 
Your bridge across, both firm and strong. 
You'll sink beneath the wreck ere long. 



24 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

And there you'll lie and scream and shout 
For relatives to help you out ; 
Then heed the sign, don't try to go 
Across that bridge that wobbles so. 

( S i g (9- 

THEY ARE ALL GOOD FELLOWS. 

1 took a stroll out on the pike 
One bright September day ; 

I saw upon the posts and trees 

And rocks along the way, 
Portraits of many handsome men, 

O 'twas a sight to see ! 
I read some lines and found they all 

Were anxious to see me. 

Some of them did call at my home 

To see me, others said 
They had not time to call, so they 

Just wrote to me instead. 
And sent me cardlike souvenirs, 

Each had a name on it, 
And underneath, "Your influence 

And vote we solicit." 

How kind of them to call on me, 

A common fellow, why, 
I never knew, before they called, 

Thai such a man as I 
Had such great influence as they 

Declared that I possessed ; 
To hear them talk, you'd think my vote 

Would win for them the rest. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 25 

There's quite an army of them out, 

And all good fellows, too; 
Give them the offices they seek, 

And they'll prove good and true; 
Not one of them, by graft or fraud, 

Will his own pockets fill, 
They all will serve their country well, 

At least they say they will. 

THE HOME OF MY GRANDPARENTS. 

'Twas not a mansion with bright walls, 
With parlors grand and stately halls ; 
No force of servants went about 
Doing the work inside and out ; 
They did not drive a fancy pair 
Of horses to the County Fair; 
No fancy drive-ways circled round 
And no retaining walls were found. 
Nor concrete walks or graveled lane, 
Ah no, all things were very plain! 
A log house by a country road. 
Was where my grandparents abode, 
The old porch, with its shattered roof. 
Was not considered waterproof. 
But O, the pleasure and the joy 
That I experienced when a boy, 
In that old house, the memory 
Of those good days is dear to me! 
Well I remember how we oft 
Would climb the stairs into the loft, 
And crack and eat a goodly share 



26 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Of hick'ry-nuts which we found there, 

And how with shouts of joy and glee, 

We climbed the large mulberry-tree, 

And in its branches stayed until 

Of berries we all had our fill. 

I watched grandfather, with his hoe, 

Down in the corn-field just below ; 

His form with age and toil was bent. 

Slowly from hill to hill he went; 

A very nervous man was he, 

His hands both shook exceedingly, 

But still he slowly toiled away 

In that cornfield day after day, 

While dear grandmother went about 

Within her garden, setting out 

Her flower plants, which she with care 

Would nurture in her garden there. 

They both have crossed the River o'er. 

There humble home stands there no more; 

We who were boys then, now have grown 

To manhood and now have our own 

Sweet children, and some silver threads 

Are here and there seen on our heads ; 

But time itself cannot erase 

From memory that lovely place 

Where I, when but a little boy, 

Was filled with happiness and joy; 

Till time shall end, sweet memory 

Of that dear home shall dwell with me. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 27 

WILL THE WORLD HAVE BEEN MADE 
BETTER BECAUSE TLIVED IN IT? 

As I travel on life's journey, 

Wearily I wend my way, 
Striving to do my plain duty 

As I journey day by day; 
As I jourey I am thinking 

How small my work does appear. 
Will the world have been the better, 

Just because I journeyed here? 

I am but a dot upon it, 

And a very small one too; 
I am very weak and humble, 

'Tis but tlittle I can do ; 
After I take my departure, 

And on earth no more appear, 
Will the world have been made better 

Just because I labored here? 

Though I may have but one talent, 

I will use it day and night, 
And with God's rich blessing on it, 

I will give the world some light ; 
Having thus done my full duty, 

I shall die and have no fear 
That the world was not made better 

Just because I journeyed here. 



28 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



TO THE BOYS OF THE CLASS OF '97. 

Recited at the twentieth anniversary banquet of the class of 1897 
of the Eastern Theological Seminary given at Lancaster. Pa., May 1917 

Is this the old class of jolly bright boys, 
Who made the halls ring with laughter and noise ; 
Who, three years together, chewed Hebrew and Greek, 
Who studied and fretted for many a week? 

Are these the same fellows who plagued Dr. Gast, 
Because they read Hebrew at sight very fast, 
And swallowed Dogmatics and Ethics wholesale. 
And never felt sick or even turned pale? 

Speak out then, I say, if you're not the same 
Jolly class that twenty-three years ago came 
And mingled together for three solid years, 
Who tortured each other with good natured jeers. 

I see you are silent, well, that gives consent, 
Yes, we are the same young fellows who spent 
Those three happy years, and now, once again. 
We gather together, a class of young men. 

I say we are young, who says we are old? 
Go, seize him and cast him out into the cold ; 
Let no one be heard to speak of gray hair. 
Or heads that are bald, no sir, don't you dare. 

Though twenty long years have passed by and flown, 
It seems that not one of us has older grown ; 
I gaze on your faces, the same smiles are there, 
And all seem as young and tender and fair 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 39 

As you all appeared that memorable night 
When we, twenty-seven, all filled with delight, 
Received our diplomas, our school days were o'er. 
None knew what the world for him held in store. 

To our dear Alma Mater, we sang our farewell, 
Then each went his way, some few went to dwell 
Far out in the West, some kept nearer home, 
And two restless fellows were destined to roam 
About, o'er the country, serving church boards, from 
And one has departed to mansions above. [love, 

I greet you, dear classmates, pray, do not be hard 

On these humble verses of your humble bard ; 

Like Holmes, who oft wrote of his class, "Twenty Nine," 

I dedicate this to you classmates of mine ; 

Wherever you journey, believe me, 'tis true, 

My very best wishes go always with you. 



MY FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY. 

August 29. 1917. 

As the twenty-ninth of August 
Dawned upon us, bright and clear, 
With the soft winds gently blowing. 
Swaying cornstalks far and near, — 
I awoke all filled with rapture, 
Gentle voices seemed to say, 
Happy greetings we are bringing 
On your fiftieth birthday. 



30 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

: — — _ 

"Fifty years, indeed," I murmured, 

"Can it be 'tis truly so?" 

Then I took a backward journey 

To the days of long ago ; 

Saw the years pass by before me, 

From my boyhood until now, 

Then my hair was brown as chestnut, 

Snow of age now on my brow. 

First I saw myself a youngster, 
A plain stripling, four years old. 
Sitting by the kitchen fire 
When outside was bleak and cold ; 
Saw the dawn of pleasant Springtime 
And myself a barefoot boy 
Playing by the dusty roadside, 
Ragged, dirty, full of joy. 

Then again, the scene was altered. 

To my view a school-room came 

Old box desks defaced by jack-knives, 

Yet, it was the very same 

That I years ago attended, 

Half a dozen rods I saw. 

Which the old time teacher wielded 

Ev'ry time we broke the law. 

Soon I saw myself no longer 
In the school-room, sad to say, 
But at work in dismal coal-mines, 
Sadly yearning ev'ry day 
To obtain an education. 
But, alas, small hope had I! 
But I made firm resolutions 
That to get one I would try. 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 31 



Then I saw myself at night-time 
Struggling with my books alone, 
Wrestling with some stiff old problem 
That seemed hard as any stone ; 
But I saw myself determined 
Never to give up the ship, 
To improve each shining moment, 
And to let no spare-time slip. 

Years of struggle I saw passing, 
Saw myself oft called a fool. 
And at last, in Hempfield Township, 
Saw me teaching public school ; 
Saw myself prepare for college, 
In a school we called "The Sem.," 
And one glad day saw me enter 
College, dear old F. and M. 

Then, inside the Seminary, 
Saw my course with others run. 
Saw me through unto the finish, 
Saw at last my school days done ; 
Saw myself preaching the Gospel, 
At a salary quite small. 
That would scarcely pay my board-bill, 
Clothes and interest and all. 

Later on I saw me taking 
A sweet lady by the hand, 
Saw us make the sacred promise 
That we'd by each other stand; 
Saw us struggling on together, 
Meeting many trials sore. 
Hoping, praying that we some day 
Might have better things in store. 



S2 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



Saw the coming of four children 
To cheer up our humble home, 
Saw us sadly bear one baby 
Gently to the silent tomb. 
Thus the vision passed before me, 
Which I here to you portray, 
And I said, 'tis true, I'm fifty 
Years of age this very day!" 

Then I prayed, "Dear Heavenly Father, 
For the past, I give to Thee 
Hearty thanks, and pray that future 
Blessings may be sent to me; 
May the days, allotted to me. 
Bring more blessings than the past. 
And when I my course have finished. 
May I rest in peace at last. 



AN "IF" FOR BOYS. 

If you can rise up ev'ry morning early. 
E'en tho you're called before it is daylight ; 

If you can laugh instead of acting surly, 

Your face and eyes all beaming with delight ; 

If you can go, without your mother saying. 

And wash completely both your hands and face; 

If you can carefully assist her laying 

The knives, the f( 'ks and dishes in their place; 

If you can find your coat and cap each morning 
Both hung up trim and neat upon the rack ; 

If you can cross the floor without a warning 
To clean your feet and not to make a track; 



SENTIMENT AND THOUGHT 33 

If you can gracefully respect your mother's wishes, 
When you come home, to gently close the door ; 

If you can kindly wash for her the dishes, 
And neatly sweep and mop the kitchen floor ; 

If you can treat your sister just as kindjy 
As other girls with whom you come in touch, 

And do small duties, others often, blindly. 
Are heard to say do not amount to much ; 

If you can overcome all evil inclinations, 

Refuse tobacco and foul cigarettes; 
Always reject alluring invitations. 

E'en when beneath companions' jeers and threats; 

If you can, when you borrow things from father, 
Return them always promptly to their place ; 

If you can save him extra steps and bother, 
And cause broad smiles to ornament his face ; 

If you can, when at any task you're working. 

Keep diligently at it till you're free ; 
If you can do each duty without shirking, 

You'll be about a model man for me. 

March 19. 1921. 



34 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



iJarm Tsi^ 



e. 



PAT AND THE MELON. 

An Irishman came to Mill Grove one day 
And hired himself to a farmer near by; 
Said he, "Indade now I've struck a foine job, 
No Irishman iver was lucky as I." 
I'll soon have a hape o money and thin 
I'll send a big roll across the dape sea, 
To Kate my swateheart and tell her to come 
And live with me in the blist land of the free." 

"And now, Mr. Beaver," said Pat, with a grin, 
"I am at your sarvice, now plaze tell me what 
You'll have me to do today, and at once 
I'll go at it with all the strength I have got." 
Then Beaver replied, "The first thing today, 
I'll have you to do, Pat, go out in that patch 
And gather those melons, we'll haul them all off 
To market tomorrow, there'll be quite a batch." 

"And what is a milon, pray tell me?" said Pat, 
Said Beaver, "You see those balls in that field. 
We grow them by hundreds, a field of that size, 
When the season is good, a large crop will yield." 
"And what do you do with the milons?" said Pat; 
Said Beaver, "Just wait," and seizing a knife, 
Cut a melon in two, "Taste that now and see 
If ever you ate better grub in your life." 



FARM LIFE 35 



Pat tasted the pulp, his face brightly shone, 
Said he, "Shure it bates all the praties e'er raised 
In ould Ireland's soil, how I wish Kate was here, 
I know with delight she'd shurely be crazed ; 
Bliss the day when I set my feet on the sod 
Of Roaring Creek Valley, 'tis here I will stay, 
And if I don't die of joy, I am shure 
I'll be havin a patch of me own some swate day."" 

Now it happened that Kim, Mr. Beaver's third son, 
Then sixteen, was noted for playing shrewd tricks; 
'Twas not very long till he played a sly prank 
Which put the poor Irishman in a bad fix. 
A large hornet's nest hung on an oak tree 
Just back of the barn, Kim climbed up one day 
And stuffed the hole shut, with the hornets all in, 
He took down the nest and bore it away. 

Then beaming with mischief, he hunted up Pat, 
Said he, "Pat, I've brought you a melon to eat ; 
This kind grows on trees, its flavor is rich, 
To get such a one is sure a rare treat." 
Pat grinned a broad grin, then took up the nest, 
Said he, "And I'm much oblaged to you, Kim," 
Then broke it in two, and out quick as flash, 
The hornets all flew with fury at him. 

Pat let out a yell, and struck right and left, 

"Shure I niver thought that the seeds would fly out 

With such force as that, just see the quare things, 

That little black haythen's still flying about ; 

They shot out so hard, some stuck on me lips, 

And some on me nose, and some in me hair, 

A wonderful milon was that one indade, 

Jist look, some seeds still are a flyin up thare." 



36 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RURAL DISTRICTS. 

There was booming in the city, 
There the cannon crackers roared, 
Buildings decked with flags and bunting. 
While baloons above them soared ; 
Trolly-cars and autos humming, 
Girls and women galy dressed, 
Bottblacks, porters, and loud newsboys, 
In the moving throng were pressed. 

But out in the rural districts, 

All was quiet, more or less, 

Here and there a few proud youngsters, 

Packs of crackers did possess. 

At the dawning of the morning, 

A few booming shots were heard, 

Making hens and roosters cackle. 

Startling forth the mother bird. 

But the grand old flag was waving 
From the farmliouse, for the true 
Genuine, pure patriotism 
Lurks among the farmers too. 
For, from off the farm, the soldiers 
Came by thousands when our land, 
By our gallant boys was rescued 
From the cruel tyrant's hand. 

There is joy out in the country 
On the Forth day of July, 
In the groves the people gather 
And picnic on cake and pie. 



FARM LIFE 37 



Lemonade and other good things 
Which the people bring to eat, 
Doubtful if a city banquet 
Could afford so rich a treat. 

There the children skip and scamper, 
Chasing round in wild delight. 
And the people keep on dining 
All day long, into the night. 
Talk about your city picnics. 
On old Independence Day, 
But take me into the country 
For to hip, hip and hoora ! 

July 4. 1914. 

I» O P » 

THE OLD HICKORY SWING 

Oh the old hickry swing! of a hickry saplin made, 
That hung upon a limb neath the spreadin chestnut's 

shade 
At the dense forest's edge whare the grass was green and 

soft, 
There in glad childhood days, we barefooted children oft 
Would, in bright summertime swing ourselves to and fro ; 
From the top of the hill to the dell down below. 
Could the echo be heard when we children would sing. 
As we swung to and fro on the old hickry swing. 

Ah, how vivid the scene of the old hickry swing 
Comes back to me now, how fond mem'rys still cling. 
Of the boys and the girls who sped through the wood 
To the soft grassy knoll whare the old chestnut stood ; 



38- POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

How we oftimes would race to see who would beat 
And be first one to mount on the old hickry seat, • 
How the children's sweet voices of yore seem to ring, 
As my thoughts wander back to the old hickry swing. 

Thare the forest so dense, with its trees looming tall, 

In the breeze gently swaying enraptured us all, 

Thare the gray squirl would whisk from his hole in the 

tree, 
His life seemed so happy, so blissful and free. 
And the chipmunk would glide in his hole in the ground 
As soon as he espied we children comin round, 
When we came with a yell, and the foremost would 

spring. 
With a triumphant laflf, on the old hickry swing. 

When the ev'nin would come, the biggest girls and boys 

Would come a strollin forth with their lafter and noise; 

They would come to that place frum a dozen nayburs 
round 

And would have the grandest time on that little play- 
ground ; 

The girls would mount the seat and the boys would swing 
them so 

As they'd touch the branch above when they swing to and 
fro. 

You could tell by the way they would lafif and shout and 
sing. 

They was havin lots of fun at the old hickry swing. 

Oh the old hickry swing! it has gone to decay, 

And we boys now are men, some have wandered far 

away ; 
The girls now are wimmin, some have married, some 

still wait. 




o 



FARM LIFE SO' 



Hoping they may see the day when they'll yet get a mate ; 
The forest is cut down, and the old chestnut tree, 
Whare I wunst used to swing, I ne'er again shall see, 
Ah, the bitter tears will roll while my little song I sing 
Of the pleasant memories of the old hickry swing. 



A NEWLIN HUCKLEBERRY PARTY. 

Oh huckleberry time had come, 

And we wuz glad indeed, 
Per huckleberries, don't yer know? 

They make sich splendid feed ; 
Some years the crop's immensely big 

And folks kin fill their pails 
In little time and thin agin. 

Some years the crop it fails. 

My wife and I, as you may know, 

Per many years hed bin 
A livin in the city, but 

We now hed moved agin 
Into the country, we hed both 

Bin brought up on the farm, 
We moved in middle of July 

When weather it wuz warm. 

Some one hed told us that the crop 

Of huckleberries would 
Thet season be a failure sure, 

Thet 'twasn't any good ; 
In no place on the mountains near, 

Was any seen to grow, 
But folks kin miss their guess, I vow, 

Thet sometimes think they know. 



40 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

A friend of our'n whispered to us, 

There wuz a place he know'd, 
Up on the little mountain top, 

Where lots of berries grow'd ; 
Bill Rarig, who is big and stout 

And kind to ev'ry one, 
He volunteered to take us out 

To hev a little fun. 

So Monday momin, round he cum 

With his great market rig, 
He hed two bosses, both wuz gray 

And they wuz strong and big; 
He loaded up a crowd of us. 

We made a heavy load. 
But Bill's two grays, they easy tuk 

Us up the mountain road. 

When we got on the mountain top. 

Bill tied his bosses to 
A saplin, then we tuk our pails 

And soon wuz runnin through 
The bushes and one time I fell 

Headlong across a stump, 
And cum kerflop down on the ground. 

And gave my hed a bump. 

Well, very soon we found a place 

Where huckleberries, whew! 
Wuz hangin thick as swarms of bees. 

Around us all wuz blue; 
One of the girls let out a scream, 

Look out Bob, there's a snake! 
Bob looked and laffed and sed, No Sue, 

Thet time it wuz a fake! 



FARM LIFE 41 

She'd seen a stick as black as coal, 

And thought it wuz a snake, 
And she wuz really frightened pale, 

Sam said, Next time you take 
A look before you yell and scare 

A feller into fits ; 
But in the woods you'll find that's how 

A young Gurl often gits. 

Well, we all fell to pickin thin, 

We gethered quite a heap, 
We tuk about two bushels home 

And canned them so's they'd keep 
You know, all through the winter time. 

We made jam out of some, 
I et some fer my supper and, 

I tell you it wuz um-m-m! 

I didn't kill no snakes at all, 

But nasty nats they bit 
My bans and face, but I jist kep 

But little count of it; 
I tell you I v/ould not hev missed 

Thet trip fer a gold pin, 
And if next season I am here, 

I sure will go agin. 

THE MOSQUITO BAND. 

There is a band, a concert band, 
No doubt the largest in the land, 
Which comes around at close of day, 
There's only one tune they can play. 



4S: POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

They are determined I shall hear, 
Because they come close to my ear, 
I've heard their tune so oft before 
That it has now become a bore. 

Yet I would not object if they 
Would be content to only play, 
But they have got so little sense, 
They always dine at my expense. 

And always, too, before they're done, 
They hurt the feelings of some one; 
'Tis usually a little child, 
So innocent and meek and mild. 

I'm sorry, but most ev'ry night. 

Before they go, we have a fight, 

But I would not be thus inclined 

If their own business they would mind 

But if they brutally will wage 
Their cruel war, then I, in rage, 
Like Uncle Sam, will rise and crush 
Their bloody carcasses to mush. 

THE WHEAT. 

Behold the fields of golden wheat, 
Which grow to make us bread so sweet; 
How beautiful, how rich, how grand 
The golden stalks by millions stand 
Upon the fields for miles and miles, 
Each waves its head, looks up and smiles 
Upon the man who tilled the land, 



FARM LIFE 43 



They are the children of his hand. 
They smile on him and seem to say, 
"We stand well ripened here to day, 
We're ready for the reapers now. 
Then for the shock, and then the mow ; 
So hasten, lest it come about 
We grow dead ripe, and grains drop out 
Our heads and fall down to the ground 
And nevermore by man be found. 

O precious wheat, oh golden wheat! 
Each day it brings to us a treat ; 
The staff of life, our daily bread 
So rich and bountifully spread 
Upon our tables, O rich food. 
So sweet, so precious, and so good; 
Now let us on our Father call 
And thank Him, for He gave it all. 



IN THE HAY FIELD. 

The summer sun is very hot, but there's a pleasant 

breeze 
A playing with the branches of the verdant apple-trees; 
I hear the mower singing in the meadow down below 
The old red barn, now Farmer Brown says, "Come boys, 

we will go 
And hitch up Maud and Bell and we will go out for a 

load 
Of hay, for that ere grass is dry that Joe this morning 

mowed. 
If it don't rain this afternoon, we'll give that field a 

sweep. 
If we can haul till supper time, we'll get in quite a heap." 



44 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

The wagon, with the ladders on, is backed out of the 

shed, 
And Maud and Bell are soon hitched up by me and 

brother Ned; 
Then on the wagon ladders all leap with agility, 
Our faces brown as chestnut shells, but happy hearts 

have we; 
Down on the road we see some folks, in autos, speeding 

by, 
They're dressed up in their Sunday best, but happier 

am I 
In overalls and broad brimmed hat, with sweat drops 

trickling down 
My forehead over cheek and chin so sunburnt and so 

brown. 

Down through the lane into the field, we take a joyful 
ride, 

All seated on the board, our feet hang dangling o'er the 
side; 

We have no cushioned seats nor has our wagon any 
springs. 

But sweetest rapture to our souls that jolting wagon 
brings ; 

Don't brag to me about your bands with drums and clar- 
inets, 

'Twill not compare with music which the farm hand dai- 
ly gets ; 

The creaking wagon with its load, the robin in the tree, 

And Bob, the driver on the load, a singing merily. 

And then, beside the music sweet, it is such splendid fun 
To see a rabbit, from the grass, leap forth and swiftly 
run ; 



FARM LIFE 45 

And we have much excitement, too, for now and then we 

see 
A copperhead or blacksnake glide out from the hay so 

free; 
I often wonder why folks say, "I'd rather live in town 
Where I can go to picture shows and see things of re- 
nown; 
Why, we who live out on the farm, most any day can see 
Nice moving pictures, and what's more, our picture show 
is free. 



THE FARMER'S COMPANIONS. 

It is springtime, and the blossoms 

Now bedeck the apple trees. 
While the sunshines bright and pleasant, 

And the gentle murm'ring breeze 
Sways the slender spreading branches 

To and fro so gracefully. 
While the robin in the treetop 

Sings a song of joy and glee. 

In the ground a narrow burrow 

Has been dug out by a mole. 
In an old dead tree, a flicker 

Has discovered a round hole; 
There she'll bring her soft material 

And erect a cozy nest 
Where, ere long, some litle nestlings 

Will be lying snug at rest. 



46 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

In the barn there is a rustle 

Of a dozen pairs of wings, 
There the swallows now are busy, 

Each one to the building brings 
Little bits of mud, each morsel. 

To the rafters way up high, 
Is by them securely fastened 

And there left alone to dry. 

Soon a nest will be completed, 

In which tiny eggs they'll lay. 
And where young birds soon will chatter, 

By and by they'll fly away. 
Then about the barn they'll circle. 

Diving through the balmy air. 
Swarms of merry little swallows 

Can be happy anywhere. 

Round the shed I hear a buzzing, 

There the wasp is busy, too, 
Making course and heavy paper, 

What does he intend to do? 
Make a nest, of course, some people 

Do not like to hear him bizz ; 
But if you will mind your business, 

He will strictly 'tend to his. 

In a hollow log a rumbling 

Sound I hear, look in and see, 
No, not I ! I know the music 

Played by Mr. Bumblebee. 
Out he comes, just see him circle 

Round about, he says, "Boo, boo!" 
Gro along, old cheating hummer, 

I will not make friends with you. 



FARM LIFE 47 



Yonder runs a little chipmunk, 

What a pretty little thing! 
Now he sits upon his haunches, 

Chip's the song that he can sing; 
There's a hole beneath the fencerail, 

Into which he soon will glide, 
*Tis his home, I wish he'd let me 

Take a little peep inside. 

Hark, I hear so loud a chatter! 

'Tis the sassy little wren ; 
To the bird-house, in the orchard ; 

He has come back once again ; 
Welcome, little sassy fellow, 

I'm your friend, as you well know, 
Glad indeed am I to see you. 

Even though you jaw me so ! 

Yonder goes a toad a hopping, 

Now he sits and winks his eyes ; 
See his curly tongue protruding. 

He's the one to catch the flies. 
Hear that music from the meadow, 

From the stagnant, marshy bogs, 
"Kerplunk, kerplink!" 'tis the singing 

Of the merry little frogs. 

Happy is the honest farmer, 

He has music all the day; 
While he works out in his garden 

While he hauls the new mown hay. 
There are singers all about him 

Singing birds and buzzing bees, 
Ev'rywhere he hears sweet music 

Floating on the gentle breeze. 



48 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

When he rises in the morning, 

He can hear the robin's song, 
Then the others join the chorus, 

He has music all day long; 
When the sun has set, and darkness 

Comes, and songs of birds all cease, 
Forth there comes the merry cricket 

Singing songs that all will please. 

Farming is indeed a pleasure, 

Though the work is hard, 'tis true, 
There are many friends to cheer you 

As you toil the whole day through ; 
'Tis a life indeed worth living. 

Though the days be very warm, 
And in heat I all day swelter, 

I prefer it on the farm. 



A TEN-YEAR-OLD BOY'S SONG OF JUNE. 

Old June is here, with balmy air. 
The sun is bright, the day is fair, 
I snatch my rod and line, and go 
Down to the mill-race just below, 
Where I cast in my earthworm bait. 
Then on the bank I sit and wait 
For some sly sucker, chub or trout 
To bite, and then I'll pull him out 

That balmy breeze, how good it feels. 
As softly through my hair it steals, 
I sit and watch the stalks of wheat 
All waving forth so tall and sweet; 



FARM LIFE 49 



I feel a jerk upon my line, 
"Ha, ha, old fellow, you are mine!" 
I swing my rod, my line pulls out 
And I now land a speckled trout. 

I place him on a stout cord string, 
Then in again my hook I fling, 
And then I sit and watch a thrush 
Gracefully hopping on a brush. 
And now I feel another jerk, 
Then I again resume my work. 
I give my rod a sudden swish 
And land a monstrous big cat-fish. 

'Tis thus I pass a pleasant day. 

Such work to me is only play; 

I love to sit there all day long 

And listen to the merry song 

The water sings as it flows by, 

And watch the white clouds in the sky ; 

When I can sit all day and fish, 

I gratify my fondest wish. 



THE OLD WAY AND THE NEW. 

When we were boys, in early May, 
We dropped the corn in rows ; 
Our fathers followed after us. 
With steady strokes of hoes. 
They covered it, it took some time 
To plant ten acres then; 
Sometimes in one field could be seen 
A half a dozen men. 
4 



50 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

And when the wheatfields ripened stood 

Ready for harvest, we 

Went forth with cradles and hand rakes, 

We usually had three 

Stout men, who with their cradles lay 

In swaths the yellow wheat, 

While six, with hand rakes, bound it up 

In sheaves both trim and neat. 

When threshing day came round, we'd hear 

A clattering, rumbling sound, 

And in the barnyard we beheld 

Eight horses walking round; 

A man, upon a small platform. 

From morn till eve would stand. 

Who lashed the horses with a whip 

Which he held in his hand. 

*Tis diff'rent now, the farmer plants 

His corn with a machine. 

And in the field, large crowds of men 

No longer can be seen ; 

For one man now will plant more corn 

In one day than we then. 

With half a dozen men and boys, 

Could plant in eight or ten. 

And in the wheatfields we now see 

The binder going round ; 

It cuts, it binds, it gathers sheaves 

In neat piles on the ground ; 

And in large tracts of land out West, 

It threshes out the grain. 

And after it has made its rounds, 

The well filled bags remain. 



FARM LIFE 61 

Yes, truly things have greatly changed 

Throughout this great broad land, 

Machines now do the work which once 

Was chiefly done by hand ; 

But who would stay the cunning hand 

That makes machines, no one, 

No, rather with one voice commend 

The work so nobly done. 

O ( t) ® 



THE SLY GRAY SQUIRREL. 

October had come, the hunters were out 
With dogs and guns, the squirrels to rout. 
O'er hill and dale the guns were heard pop, 
And many a frisky squirrel would drop. 

A cunning gray squirrel, the hunters have spied, 
He hies himself into the tall oak to hide, 
And from his peep hole, with shining sharp eye, 
He watches the hunters and dogs passing by. 

And when he feels all is safe once again. 
He ventures forth from his snug little den, 
Now down the bare trunk he goes with a bound, 
Then with a long leap lands safe on the ground. 

Now on his haunches he squats, with his tail 
Standing erect like a boat's hoisted sail 
In a few seconds he has looked on all sides, 
Then, like a flash, o'er the loose leaves he glides. 

Now a small thicket appears in his way. 
But to glide through it, to him is but play ; 
Soon at the opposite side he appears. 
Watching on all sides, with wide open ears. 



53 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Now he has come to a low marshy bog, 
O'er which he crosses upon an old log; 
From where he now is he plainly can see 
The tall weather beaten old butternut tree. 

Only a few leaps more brings him there, 
Now for a butternut, which he will bear 
Back to his snug little nest in the tree 
Where his good wife sits and waits anxiously. 

He has seized one, now see how he goes, 
The way to his den he very well knows ; 
Over the marshes, up the steep hill, 
At a full gallop he speeds with a will. 

Hark, there's a hunter, bang, goes his gun! 
But Mr. Squirrel continues to run; 
Over his head the load of shot hissed, 
Lucky for you Mr. Squirrel, that he missed. 

But slack not your pace, the danger's not past, 
A dog's on your track, O run very fast, 
Your tree is not more than ten yards away, 
So keep up your pace, you'll yet win the day. 

On sped the squirrel and on came the dog. 
Leaping o'er bushes, stone-pile and log; 
It was a tight race, but the squirrel has won 
And the dog has been cheated out of his fun. 

Now seated once more in his snug little den 
He vows he will not venture out soon again ; 
He has a large store of nuts which will last 
Until the cold winter months will have past. 



FARM LIFE 53 



And so he sat there, through a hole he looked out 
And watched the snow-birds all hopping about, 
And tho other squirrels the hunter's bags filled. 
That cunning gray squirrel has never been killed. 

AN OLD SCHOOL TEACHER AND STUDENT 
MEET AFTER THIRTY YEARS. 

The Thomas School is located one mile west of Greensburg, West 
moreland County, Pennsylvania. The teacher referred to In this poem Is 
Edward J. Small, Pittsburg, Pa., an attorney by profession, who taught 
the Thomas School In winter of 1877-8. The author was a ten year old 
pupil at that time. In the same school. 

(Teacher) 
"Full thirty years have passed and gone 
Since we once met together, John, 
When I taught you at Thomas School 
Which stood beside a rushy pool 
Of water, clear, serene and calm, 
Where tadpoles by the hundreds swam ; 
'Twas close beside a shady grove. 
Where with the bat and ball we strove; 
Where pretty girls with laughter sang 
Until the woods with rapture rang; 
Oft do I sit and ponder o'er 
Those happy times in days of yore; 
You say you still are living there 
Then tell me how the people fare; 
How is old Mr. Wise and wife. 
That fat old man so full of life. 
And Mr. Smeltzer, Poole and all? 
I'm coming out some day to call 
On all of them, you'll go with me 



54 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

And once again old friends I'll see ; 

I'll be the happiest of men, 

To greet those good old friends again." 

(Student) 

"Alas, the tears come to my eyes ! 
Those many friends, which tender ties 
Bound to us, all from earth have fled, 
Old Mr. Wise and wife are dead ; 
Of all the old folks, none remain. 
It fills my heart with grief and pain 
To tell you this, but if you go 
To visit them, you'll find it so ; 
Some of the homes remain the same, 
But people of a different name 
Will greet you at each cottage door. 
Your good old friends are there no more." 

(Teacher) 

"Sad news, indeed, is this to me, 

O, is it true, it cannot be 

That all now in the graveyard sleep ? 

It breaks my heart, I mourn and weep 

But if I go back, I can still 

Behold the school-house on the hill, 

The old box desks and benches see. 

That will bring joy and cheer to me." 

(Student) 

"Ah no, dear friend, the old house too 
Has been torn down, and now a new 
One with two rooms stands on the site 
And other young lads, with delight, 



FARM LIFE 55 



Are playing where we once did play, 
When we were happy all the day ; 
If you should now behold the place 
Of that old house you'll find no trace." 

(Teacher) 
"The old house then I shall not see, 
But still there'll be one joy to me, 
I'll see the beautiful oak grove. 
And neath its boughs again I'll rove, 
And kneeling on the brook's green brink, 
Of its sweet waters I shall drink, 
And that alone I know will be 
Sweet happiness and bliss to me." 

(Student) 
"O how I wish it might be so, 
And that I too again might go 
And drink of that cool brook and rove 
Once more in that refreshing grove; 
The woodman's cruel ax has cleft 
Those stately trees, not one is left, 
There once the green grove stood, but now 
The farmer works it with the plow. 
When coal was taken out below. 
The cool brook, too, then had to go. 
The grove, the brook have passed away, 
You will not find them there today." 

(Teacher) 
"Gone, all gone, are those scenes, away. 
But still to that place I will go some day, 
A basket of flowers with me I'll take 
To the old graveyard, and for the sake 



56 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Of the memory of those friends I knew, 
Upon the grave of each I'll strew 
The flowers, for I'm sure I'll find 
The graves of those who were so kind 
To me when I a youth first came 
Among them, blesed be the name 
Of ev'fy one, some day I'll greet 
Them all around the mercy seat." 



WAR POEMS 57 



©y/ar poemxi^. 



O DOVE OF PEACE, WHERE HAST THOU 
FLOWN ? 

For centutries the war clouds hung 

O'er nations in the whole wide world ; 
Defiant battle songs were sung, 

And implements of war were hurled 
At one another, friend turned foe. 

The sword and shield flashed in the sun, 
Each conflict brought forth grief and woe. 

As gallant men fell one by one. 

But by and by there came a day 

When wise men said, "Let us have peace! 
We'll lay our swords and guns away, 

And war-ship building we will cease ; 
We will not tax the people more, 

Our mighty armies, we'll disband 
And days of bloodshed will be o'er, 

And peace shall reign in ev'ry land. 

Thus great men spake, the gentle dove 

Of peace was hov'ring ev'rywhere. 
While to the Prince of Peace and Love, 

Ascended many an earnest prayer 
That nations ne'er again might war, 

That bloody conflicts all might cease ; 
In ev'ry land, both near and far, 

Men prayed, "Descend O dove of peace.' 



58 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

It was a dream, men soon awoke 

To find the dove of peace had flown, 
And nations had with fury broke 

Forth into war, the world was thrown 
Into excitement, cannons boomed, 

The earth shook with a quake again, 
And many famihes were doomed 

To sacrifice their gallant men. 

O dove of peace, where hast thou flown? 

O come and visit us again ; 
May ev'ry sigh and cry and moan 

Ring in the hearts of those vile men 
Who, all for selfishness, made war. 

And may they crush their hearts of stone, 
And all their peace and pleasure mar 

Until they for their wrongs atone. 

Fiends, autocrats, do you not hear 

The widow's moan, the orphan's cry? 
Are your hearts stone, do you not fear 

The wrath of God who dwells on high? 
O hear the cry of Uncle Sam 

Who pleads with you, O heed his voice, 
Dispel the storm, the war waves calm. 

And let the world again rejoice! 

Aug. 19, 1914. 



WAR POEMS 59 



A PARTING BLESSING TO OUR SOLDIER BOYS. 

Brave soldier boys, you're starting out 

Upon a mission grand, 
You leave your homes, your firesides, 

And your own native land ; 
For love of liberty you go, 

To hurl the tyrant down, 
Who sits upon his lofty throne 
And wears a despot's crown. 

You soon, on board our transports, will 

Cross o'er the sea's expanse. 
And will, ere long, join with the boys 

Of brave and fearless France. 
Then o'er the vineclad hills you'll march 

To meet the despot foe. 
To conquer him and for all time 

His power overthrow. 

The Stars and Stripes will o'er you wave, 

Proud emblem of the free. 
And underneath its folds you'll march 

To bring sweet liberty 
To poor oppressed humanity 

The Kaiser has held down 
For many years and made them swear 

Allegiance to the crown. 

William, the Tyrant, on his throne. 

Is King of Babylon, 
In one short hour, all his wealth 

And glory will be gone ; 



60 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

E'en now the mighty angel drops 

The stone into the sea, 
Thus shall the world soon see fulfilled 

That ancient prophecy. 

Thus, with a great and mighty fall, 

Shall Germany go down. 
Thus, with one blow, the Kaiser shall 

Forever lose his crown ; 
You are that stone, brave boys, ne'er fear, 

God's angel e'er will guide 
You through the fiercest battle's din, 

Fod God is on our side. 

The battle may be long and fierce. 

Your blood may freely flow. 
But children, of a land like ours. 

Defeat must never know ; 
Our glorious banner, floating high. 

Proud emblem of the free, 
Is foreordained to bring to all 

Sweet peace and liberty. 

Go forth then, boys, courageously, 

March onward to the fray. 
Fight as your sires fought before, 

And you will win the day; 
Store in your hearts brave Warren's words, 

"The God of battles trust," 
He will be in the midst of you. 

He knows our cause is just. 



WAR POEMS 61 



Farewell, then boys, we'll daily pray 

The strife may not be long, 
And that you soon may homeward sail, 

Singing the victor's song; 
May heaven's blessing go with you, 

God's angel hosts attend 
You all the way, and gently guide 

You safely to the end. 

June 23, 1917. 

® g i es 
CHRISTMAS DAY, 1917. 

'Tis Christmas Day, that day of days, 
When we our songs of grateful praise 
Sing to our Savior, who was born 
In Bethlehem, that Christmas morn 
When angels came down to the earth 
To tell the shepherds of His birth ; 
That angel choir from the sky 
Sang, "Glory be to God most high!" 

But Christmas, nineteen seventeen. 
Brings not to us that joyful scene, 
But scenes of carnage, death and blood, 
In France there flows the crimson flood, 
On Belgium's once peaceful shore, 
The ground is dyed with human gore. 
In Italy, men grapple fierce, 
And strive each other's hearts to pierce. 

The heartless Kaiser, on his throne. 
Appears as if he'd never known 
The story of the Prince of peace, 
He vows the war shall never cease 



62 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

'Till he can have all things his way, 
Ah, 'tis indeed a solemn day. 
This Christmas, nineteen seventeen, 
For sorrow ev'rywhere is seen. 

How can we sing with joy this day, 
When our dear boys are far away 
From home and friends and native land, 
No mother's kind and loving hand 
To clasp their own, no joy or bliss 
Occasioned by the mother's kiss? 
Bereft of home's parental care, 
Are our brave boys encamped o'er there. 

We sit down to our Christmas meal. 

Sad feelings over us must steal; 

Each one in his accustomed chair, 

But ah, one place is vacant there! 

The father takes the carving knife, 

'Tis his most trying time in life. 

While carving, he lets fall a tear, 

And sighs, "O that our James were herel" 

The food is passed in silence round. 
In ev'ry heart is grief profound. 
Ah, 'tis a sad sad Christmas day ! 
How can we sing, what can we say r 
The whole world is o'ercast with gloom 
It trembles with the cannon's boom. 
Dark clouds of smoke the sun obscure, 
How long must we this grief endure? 

O heart, now faint, do not despond. 
There shines a radiant light beyond 
The cloud that now appears so dark; 



WAR POEMS 63 



Now see, 'tis cleft in twain, and hark! 

Again the angels, from the sky, 

Sing, "Glory be to God most high!" 

Ere long this cruel war wil cease, 

For Christ still reigns, the Prince of peace. 

Then, have we still not cause to sing 
Our praises to our Lord and King? 
Yes, we can praise Him for His care 
And guidance to our boys o'er there 
Praise Him becasue His blessed Word 
In ev'ry army post is heard. 
Praise Him who soon will come again 
To bring sweet peace and joy to men. 
Dec. 25, 1917. 

'IS ® ® 

THE KAISER'S SENTENCE 

Stand up. Kaiser William, 

Your power is past. 

You've murdered and tortured. 

But justice at last 

Has laid its firm fingers 

Securely on you, 

So list to your sentence 

That's justly your due. 

The people have cursed you, 
And many have said. 
Don't waste time in trial. 
Just off with his head; 
But justice decided 
That such punishment 



64 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Would be too mild for you. 

So you will be sent 

Not forth to the scaffold, 

But into exile, 

Far, far from your kindred, 

Where time you can wile 

Away very slowly. 

Alone you will grieve 

O'er crimes you've committed, 

There'll be no reprieve; 

For death you'll be longing, 

Pale visions will rise 

Of poor murdered children, 

Their pitiful cries 

Will torment you daily. 

Hell's flames will flare up 

And scorch your vile being, 

You'll drink from the cup 

That's filled to o'erflowing. 

More bitter than gall, 

You'll wake ev'ry morning. 

Not rested at all ; 

For years you'll be tortured 

With fear and regret 

But your cup of sorrow 

Will not be full yet ; 

You'll grow thin and wretched, 

And as you thus wane, 

You'll give a fierce struggle. 

Then raving, insane. 

Death's strong hand will grasp you, 

Unhonored, unmourned, 

You'll die, but your casket 



WAR POEMS 65 



Will not be adorned 
With sweet scented flowers, 
The world will rejoice, 
The song will be echoed 
With one heart and voice, 
"Praise God in the highest, 
Whose kind hand today 
Has swept the last barrier 
Of freedom away. 

March 21, 1918. 



A YOUNG SOLDIER'S WIFE'S SONG TO 
HER BABE. 

As the early dews were falling. 
Sweet and clear arose the sound 
Of the sparkling meadow brooklet, 
As it sped with leap and bound 
Over rocks and sandy places, 
Onward, with unceasing flow. 
Soon to join the silent river 
Which meandered just below. 

While the bat was gayly flitting 
In the twilight, all about, 
While the bright stars in the heavens, 
Each in turn were coming out, 
While the cricket chirped serenely. 
While the vesper songs were heard, 
In the forest, dense and gloomy, 
Of the happy singing bird. 



66 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Lucy sat on the veranda, 
With her baby fondly pressed 
To her bosom, softly singing, 
As in words her thoughts expressed, 
"Father's gone across the ocean, 
Gone to be a soldier true. 
Gone to do his sacred duty. 
God will care for me and you," 

"A great gulf is fixed between us. 

He is many miles away. 

Though he's absent, yet, in spirit. 

He is with us ev'ry day ; 

We are lonely here without him. 

He no doubt is lonely, too. 

But our own dear country needs him, 

God will care for me and you !" 

"Father never yet has seen you, 
Darling child, for on the day 
You arrived, our home to brighten, 
He was many miles away; 
Now the ocean rolls between us, 
Father's standing, brave and true, 
At his post, we will not murmur, 
God will care for me and you!' 

So she pressed her babe more closely 
To her bosom, while a tear 
Fell upon her darling's forehead, 
Yet, with faith allaying fear, 
Gazing on her babe so fondly, 
With a mother's love so true, 
Sang so softly, as he slumbered, 
"God will care for me and you!" 



WAR POEMS 67 



Softly, on the balmy breezes, 
Came sweet music to her ear, 
From the angel hosts of heaven, 
Bringing to her soul sweet cheer ; 
Guardian angels gently whispered, 
"You're a Christian, brave and true 
God will care for you and baby, 
And will care for father, too!" 

March 23, 1918. 



YANKEE DOODLE WITH MODERN 
IMPROVEMENTS. 

Our Yankee Boys have gone to France, 

Across the briny ocean. 
Already they have chased the Hun, 

And caused a great commotion. 

(Chorus) 
Then "Yankee Doodle," shout the song, 

And make the declaration. 
Our Yankee Boys, sweet liberty, 

Will bring to ev'ry nation. 

Already they have crossed the line, 

And Germany invaded. 
And with true Yankee bravery. 

Into the Huns have waded. 

They soon will turn the tide of war, 

And set the Huns a running. 
For none can stand before the Yanks, 

They are so shrewd and cunning. 



68 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

And Kaiser Bill and all his hosts, 
Will soon with fear be quaking, 

For soon our Yankee Boys will give 
Old Germany a shaking. 

On to Berlin they'll make their way, 

And bring to desolation. 
The palace of old Kaiser Bill, 

And cause great consternation. 

They'll hurl that despot from his throne, 
With him no words they'll bandy, 

They'll march him to the lively tune 
Of ''Yankee Doodle Dandy." 

Then all the world will shout for joy, 
And will our boys be greeting. 

Then home they'll come triumphantly, 
There'll be a happy meeting. 

June 21. 1918. 



THE TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF 
EDITH CAVELL. 

She had no trial, for the fiends 
Assembled had decreed her fate ; 
She was from England, 'twas enough. 
Those German beasts, impelled by hate 
For England, laid aside all law 
And justice, they, like fiercest swine. 
Which rend their helpless victim's flesh, 
Or cunning spiders which entwine 



WAR POEMS 69 



The helpless insects with their webs, 
Those German beasts refused to try 
Her lawfully, her only crime 
Was, "She is English, and must die." 

The so-called courts were guided by 
No principle at all, they gave 
Themselves up to their lust for blood; 
'Twas mockery, none cared to save 
That one who had so tenderly 
Nursed back to life the wounded men ; 
No rights had she before that bar. 
They knew no right nor justice when 
The one accused, from England came. 
Before them to be tried, their cry 
Was everlastingly the same, 
"She's English, and therefore must die!" 

And so they hastened to conclude 
Their hellish work, in dead of night 
Their cruel bullets pierced her heart, 
The Kaiser's beasts put out that light 
Which shown upon the suffering ones 
Who lay, each one upon his cot ; 
While time shall last, this crime of crimes, 
Apologies can never blot 
Out from the memory of all 
Who stand for justice, law and right. 
From heaven above, the countless stars 
Shown pitifully down that night. 

Soon as the cruel act was known, 
The world, in protest, raised its cry, 
A wrathful God above looked down. 
And there was judgement in His eye. 



70 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Time will pass by, this war will end 
Those German beasts will be brought low, 
And Sauberzweig, the merciless. 
Will suffer great remoise and woe. 
But Edith Cavell will live on. 
Her monument, in course of time, 
Should have inscribed thereon these words, 
"She was English, her only crime." 

Oct. 16, 1918. 

gt^ *0> wOv 

THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. 

One son has crossed the sea, 
Is on the firing line, 
Another is in camp. 
They both are faring fine j 
So says the last account 
That anxious mother heard, 
But three weeks have passed by 
Since she received that word. 

Since then fierce battles raged 
Beyond the broad deep sea, 
And ev'ry time, our men 
Have won the victory; 
But many of our boys. 
Who helped the foe to stem, 
Fell dead upon the field, 
Was her boy one of them? 

That is the question which 
Weighs heavy on the soul 
Of that fond mother while 
The battle takes its toll 



WAR POEMS 71 



Of soldiers from our ranks, 
Ah, truly, mothers bear 
Far more than do their boys 
In trenches over there! 

Oct. 18, 1918. 



HOW TOM BROWN VIEWS THE WAR. 

Tom Brown, one bright September morn. 
Gazed on his field of standing corn ; 
His sons had both gone off to war, 
Throughout the land, both near and far, 
It was the same thing ev'rywhere. 
Each home was called upon to spare 
Their best to send across the sea 
To fight for world wide liberty. 

Tom gazed around, and heaved a sigh, 
Then wiped a fresh tear from his eye ; 
"My boys both from their parents torn. 
They planted that big field of corn 
Last Spring, but they're not here today 
To help me store the crop away ; 
Frank is at Newport, and, dear me, 
James has already crossed the sea !" 

"That corn crop should be gathered now, 

I can't get help, but yet, somehow, 

I feel that I'll accomplish it. 

If Ma and Ruth can help a bit; 

At an}'rate, I'll make a start, 

I'm willing, yes, to do my part 

To put that murderous Kaiser down, 

Sure, they can count on old Tom Brown !" 



72 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

"Both of my sons I freely give, 

But O, I hope they both will live 

And come back home to Ma and me, 

We'll hope and pray, perhaps 'twill be 

Our happy lot, but some must die 

On battle fields, and left to lie 

In graves unmarked, not all the men 

Who've gone, will come back home again!' 

"Yes," 'War is hell,' as Sherman said, 
I wish, sometimes, that I were dead ; 
But Ma, she smiles and says, 'O no. 
That would be cowardly! we'll go 
On through the fray, we'll work and buy 
More bonds and stamps, both you and I 
Must keep up courage, and provide 
The food that's needed on our side." 

"And then I laugh myself, and say 
To her, 'You're right, it will not pay 
For us at home e'er to retreat, 
For if we do, we're surely beat!' 
And so, with vigor, I sail in 
And say, 'Get up there, Doll and Jin, 
For we must get this big job done, 
And help to lick the murderous Hun !" 

Oct. 18, 1918. 



WAR POEMS T6 



WE'LL PAY OUR DEBT TO LAFAYETTE. 

Recited at the celebration of Lafayette's Birthday at Bremen, Ohio, 
September 7th. 1918. 

When Paul Revere at midnight rode 
On his swift steed to Lexington, 
And shouted, as he rode along, 
"To arms, the struggle has begun!" 
Our patriotic fathers rose, 
And with great valor, forces hurled 
Against the foe, their shots that day 
Were heard around the entire world. 

Then hurried forth the minute men 
From ev'ry fair New England farm, 
One aim had they, to rout the foe 
Who came to do their country harm; 
Beneath the Cambridge elm tree's shade, 
George Washington, on steed of white. 
Assumed command of those brave men, 
To battle for their homes and right. 

That army, but few thousand men. 

For years held back their cruel foe. 

From lack of food, from winter's cold, 

They suffered misery and woe; 

Those were the days which tried men's souls, 

For many quaked with dread and fear, 

But still, in hope, they struggled on, 

They knew not that strong help was near. 

Two years passed by, the month of June, 
Bedecked with scented roses came, 
And with it, from the shores of France, 
A brave and gallant youth, whose name 



74 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Today is ev'rywhere revered 

In this free land, 'twas then there met, 

And joined their hearts for freedom's cause, 

George Washington and Lafayette. 

Brave Lafayette, a friend in need. 
Gave us himself, his wealth, his all, 
More than a century passed by. 
And then there came an urgent call 
From France for help, and recently. 
Brave Pershing, whom we all revere, 
Placed flowers on his tomb, and said, 
"Friend Lafayette, behold we're here!" 

"We've come to pay the debt we owe, 
Not many thousand were we when 
You came to help defeat our foe, 
We bring you now a million men 
To down the Kaiser and his host, 
A million, we'll not stop with one, 
But ten, if need be, we will bring. 
In gratitude for what you've done." 

"So, rest in peace, brave Lafayette, 

We'll thrash your foe, and thrash him well, 

Already, on the horde of tluns. 

The Yankee's work begins to tell ; 

We'll put the accursed Prussian down, 

All that is due him he will get, 

And when he's conquered, we can say. 

We've paid our debt to Lafayette!" 

Sept. 7, 1918. 



WAR POEMS 75 



THE KAISER'S DOOM. 

The Kaiser thot 

He'd laid a plot 

Whereby he'd got 

A firm hold on the world ; 

He'll change his mind, 

Only to find 

That he was blind, 

And soon now will be hurled 

From ofif his throne, 

That he alone 

Must soon atone 

For his enormous crime; 

He must come down, 

And lose his crown 

And past renown, 

Both now and for all time. 

Oct. 18, 1918. 



LITTLE MAN'S COMPLAINT. 

My father had to go from home, 
Across the broad and stormy sea. 
To help the struggling people there 
To gain their precious liberty ; 
He had to leave me and mamma. 
He went with other soldier men, 
'Tis three months since he went away. 
And he may ne'er come home again. 

Why did my father have to go 
Away from home, and leave us all? 
He went because he felt he ought, 



76 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

He answered to our country's call; 
Why did our country need to call 
Him from his home and little Nan? 
My mother tells me that it was 
The fault of one bad cruel man. 

And he who sinned that dreadful sin, 
Was that vile beast in old Berlin. 

Oct. IS, 1918. 

PRAYER FOR OUR SICK SOLDIERS. 

O Father, look down from Thy throne, 
Send forth Thy glory from above 
Into our soldier camps below. 
Upon our boys whom Thou dost love; 
For thousands now are lying sick. 
Come now, Lord Jesus, lay Thy hand 
Upon the sick and dying there. 
Bring joy throughout our native land. 

O Jesus, see the broken hearts 
Of fathers, mothers, hear their cry; 
O heal their sons, far, far away, 
O do not suffer them to die ; 
Lord Jesus, hear the earnest prayers 
That daily are poured out to Thee, 
Send forth Thine angel to our camps, 
Remove this dreadful malady. 

Oct. 18, 1918. 



WAR POEMS 77 



HOW CAN WE PRAY FOR THE KAISER? 

O Lord, Thou didst command that we 
Should bless, not curse our enemy ; 
How can we call on Thee to bless 
One steeped in such vile wickedness 
As he who planned this cruel war, 
And spread destruction near and far? 
Vengeance, dear Lord, belongs to Thee, 
Open his eyes that he may see 
The error of his foolish way; 
Lord, this is all that we can pray. 
We want to do just what is right. 
May we find favor in Thy sight. 

Oct. 18. 1918. 



HOW ABOUT DAD ? 

The pf)ets of today all sing, 
And make the very welkin ring 
With songs about our Kakhi Boys, 
Of their misfortunes and their joys. 
About their sweethearts left behind. 
About their mothers good and kind; 
To me indeed it seems too bad 
That no one lauds the soldier's dad. 
While mother knits and worries, too, 
What does the dear old daddy do? 
He does a heap, and does it well, 
Give heed, and I his deeds will tell; 
Throughout the long and anxious days, 
The grocer and meat man he pays, 
He sees to buying garden seeds. 



78 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Comes home in time to pull the weeds; 
He sta5^s at home when mother goes 
To Red Cross work, and well she knows 
That Dad hands out the cash to pay 
The Red Cross and Y. M. C. A., 
The S, A. and the K. of C, 
And all the calls for charity; 
I would that all, in this free land, 
Might also fully understand 
That he's the father of two sons 
The mother sent to lick the Huns, 
And cherishes fond memory 
Of those two boys beyond the sea, 
Amid the daylight and the glim, 
Fond mem'ries often come to him 
Of childish freaks when they were small, 
And oftentimes he will recall 
Proud mem'ries of their young manhood, 
And sighs and says, "Ah, if I could 
Press to my bosom once again 
Those boys, now brave and gallant men !'* 
Ah yes, kind friends. Dad has a heart, 
'Twas painful, too, for him to part 
With Frank and James, upon that day 
■ The ship, which bore them, sailed away. 
Give to the mother all that's due, 
But have some thought for daddy, too! 



WAR POEMS 79 



THE THRILLING MESSAGE. 

Written November 11th, 1918, upon hearing the news that the Ger- 
mans had signed the armistice. On the afternoon of the same day, 
the author recited these lines to a monstrous crowd assembled to 
celebrate the occasion. 

On the eleventh of November, 

While the people lay asleep, 

To our shores was brought the message. 

O'er the broad and briny deep, 

That the foe, who had against us 

Been so bitterly maligned. 

Had the Allies' terms accepted, 

And the armistice had signed. 

Then the people were awakened 

By the clanging of the bell 

And the thrilling blast of whistle. 

Pealing forth to gladly tell 

Ev'rywhere the news, so thrilling. 

Of the glorious victory. 

How the cause of right had triumphed, 

And had set the captives free. 

Multitudes of people listened, 
Under cover of the night, 
To the reading of the message, 
Hearts o'erflowing with delight, 
Then gave vent to demonstrations 
Of that joy which no one knows 
But he who for justice battles. 
And then triumphs o'er his foes. 



80 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

The long weary war is over, 
And "Old Glory," once again, 
Still unstained, is floating over 
Millions of heroic men; 
We have kept our sacred promise, 
That our banner was unfurled, 
Not for selfishness, but only 
To bring freedom to the world. 

On the battle-fields have fallen, 
Thousands of our gallant men, 
Many boys, who crossed the ocean. 
Never will come home again; 
Underneath French sod they're sleeping, 
Many miles across the main, 
But we thank the Allwise Father 
That they have not died in vain. 

Nov. 11, 1918. 



nature's beauties 81 



SONG OF THE SNOWFLAKES. 

From clouds o'erhead we gently fall, 
To bring to earth a cover, 
On meadows, hills and trees and roofs, 
We spread white blankets over. 

At ev'ning, first a few upon 
Our downward journey started, 
But ere midnight, ten million more 
Had from the clouds departed. 

Throughout the night, till morning dawn, 
Upon the air we floated. 
And when the dawn of day appeared, 
O'er ev'rything we gloated. 

Then up arose the fierce north wind, 
And with a cruel laughter, 
It blew us from, our resting place. 
And many miles chased after. 

O'er hills and fields it carried us. 
Then tossed us in a hollow. 
Where we held fast and many more 
Upon our track did follow. 

Along there came a rumbling train 

And swiftly plunged into us. 

It whistled, pufifed, but soon found out 

It never could plow through us. 

6 



82 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Next morning dawned quite warm and clear, 
We saw Old Sol look cunning, 
As if he meant to say to us, 
I soon will set you running. 

He then began to shed his heat, 
Then we all took to crying. 
He melted us to tears so fast, 
Like lard in caldrons frying. 

Before the day was done each flake 
Had melted and departed, 
To our surprise we found that we 
Were back to where we started. 



A STREET SCENE IN WINTER. 

Out in the broad and snow covered street, 

I hear the noise of swift little feet, 

There they are moving swiftly about, 

The atmosphere is rent with a shout 

Of the merry, happy little schoolboys. 

For the greatest of all the Winter's joys 

For them is the pleasure that can be found 

When the beautiful snow lies thick on the ground. 

Laughing, shouting, and chatting with glee, 
Sleds of different kinds we can see; 
Little James lying flat on his chest. 
Seems to go faster than all of the rest ; 



nature's beauties 83 

There goes a heavily loaded bobsled, 
Guided by jolly and reckless young Ned, 
Down, down the long and steep hill they go, 
Over the fleecy and well trodden snow. 

Hip, hip, hurrah Ned ! here come the girls 
With radiant faces and flying curls ; 
Now they have mingled with the schoolboys, 
Did ever you hear such a chattering noise ? 
Now the bobsled goes over a knoll, 
O it turns over, see the boys roll ! 
No one is injured, just see them lay 
There in the snow all laughing away. 

Now they have reached the foot of the hill, 
Now they see, coming up from the mill, 
Old Farmer Thompson in his two horse sled, 
Here's luck for us, boys! shouted young Ned; 
On Farmer Thompson's sled they all pile. 
The old man's face lights up with a smile. 
He kindly allows the whole mob to ride 
Upon his large sled up the steep hillside. 

The summit now reached, they merrily jump 
From ofif the sled to the ground with a thump, 
And, swiftly as ever, over the snow, 
Down, down again the steep hill they go ; 
So they continue throughout the whole day, 
Laughing and screaming, all happy and gay; 
God bless them all, may their lives happy be 
And from earth's misfortunes be happy and free. 



84 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

THE ALLEGHENY MOUNTAINS. 

The bright Alleghenies, so lofty and grand, 
Reflecting the sunhght, in glory doth stand, 
The great rocks o'erhanging the gorges below 
Where bright sparkling streams of pure water flow. 

The forests so dense and looming so tall, 
Of all the grand sights, is grandest of all, 
There blossoms in springtime bring to our glad eyes 
A scene like a vision of sweet Paradise. 

The Connamaugh River flows swiftly along 
And sings such a sweet melodious song; 
Its graceful sharp curves bring joy to the eye 
Of many gay tourists who daily ride by. 

The Blue Juniata meanders through wilds, 
So clear and so peaceful, a whole hundred miles, 
Its waters 'gainst rocks and steep banks are tossed 
Until in the broad Susquehanna they're lost. 

Upon the west side, within a ravine. 
The city of Johnstown in glory is seen. 
Which in eighty-nine, one dark summer day. 
Was suddenly swept by fierce torrents away. 

In winter, the snowbanks, which glisten so bright, 
Present to the trav'ler a beautiful sight. 
And icicle ornaments on the green trees. 
Create a rich scene, never failing to please. 

It is a rare pleasure, when laden with care, 
To take a vacation, and seek refuge there. 
And breathe the pure air, be happy and gay, 
At least for a season, your cares flee away. 



nature's beauties 85 

WHEN THE BLUEBIRDS NORTHWARD FLY. 

When the bhzzard's hum is past, 
And the tempest's cruel blast, 
Thru the night, is heard no more. 
When the zero days are o'er, 
When the buds begin to swell 
On the trees o'er hill and dell. 
When the bluebirds northward fly, 
'Tis a sign that Spring is nigh. 

How it pleases girls and boys 
When they hear the twitt'ring noise 
Of those harbingers of spring, 
W^hat a joy to hear them sing. 
On the air the music floats. 
Thru the window come their notes. 
From the clear and balmy sky, 
When the bluebirds northward fly. 

After many cloudy days. 
We behold the sun's bright rays 
Beaming on us once again. 
Bringing sweetest cheer, and then 
We are filled with joy and glee 
By the thrilling song, "Chee, chee!" 
Which assures us Spring is nigh. 
When the bluebirds northward fly. 



86 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



TO THE MARCH WIND. 

Blow March Wind, with your whistle and roar, 
Your blustering days will soon be o'er; 
Blow your loud blasts throughout the long night, 
Cover the ground with blankets of v/hite. 

Rattle the windows and slam the door, 
Soon we will hear you whistle no more; 
For Old Sol now is mounting the sky, 
Spring birds are coming and April is nigh. 

Pile the white snowdrifts high if you will, 
Over each doorstep and on window sill ; 
Bite the tips of our fingers to day, 
Doubtless, tomorrow you'll vanish away. 

When the South Wind blows gently, you'll hie 
Away to the North, we'll bid you goodbye. 
And for eight months, or probably more, 
W^e'll not feel your breath or hear your loud roar. 

We do not hate you, old March Wind, O no! 
We like you in Winter, but now you should go, 
Farewell, and when the warm season is o'er. 
We'll welcome again your whistle and roar. 



nature's beauties 87 



A FREE MOVING PICTURE SHOW. 

People go o'er roughest roads, 
Thru the deepest muck and mud, 
In their autos, loads and loads. 
All the way it's bump and thud ; 
Ten or twelve miles they will go 
To some distant bust'ling town, 
Just to see a little show, 
Tho the rain comes pouring down. 

Tho the night be dark as pitch, 
Tho the wind blow cold and strong, 
Tho they skid from ditch to ditch, 
As their autos jog along; 
They will go at anyrate, 
Just to see some comic show, 
Getting home so very late. 
As we parents all well know. 

Foolish people, I can hear. 
While I'm lounging in my seat, 
Music, which comes to my ear, 
Both melodious and sweet; 
'Tis the wind, which sings to me 
Songs that Spring is coming sure. 
While from mud and cold I'm free, 
Which the others must endure. 

And when out in open air, 
I look upward to the sky, 
I behold a picture there. 
Fleecy clouds go flitting by 



88 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

O'er the golden moon so bright, 
Ah, that moving picture show 
That I see there after night, 
None can equal it I know ! 

I can stand and gaze and gaze 
At the universe so vast, 
All the grandest op'ra plays. 
Or the scenes on canvass cast, 
Cannot in the least compare 
With the grandure I behold. 
And the glories pictured there 
In rich colors of pure gold. 

EVENING. 

Behind the distant hill, the sun 

Is nestling for the night. 
Another day is almost done, 

He sheds his brilliant light 
Against the hov'ring clouds above, 

How beautiful to see ; 
Emblems of God's unending love 

Shed o'er the earth so free. 

I feel the cool refreshing breeze. 

The zephyrs gently sway 
The verdant branches of the trees. 

The sun now sinks away 
Behind the hill, completely hid. 

The gentle twilight comes, 
I hear the clicking katydid. 

The bee now softly hums. 



nature's beauties 89 

Up from the frog-pond comes a croak, 

The old owl cries, "Who, who?" 
From his headquarters in the oak, 

The cow responds, "Moo-oo !" 
While from the hedge, just o'er the way. 

The cry comes, "Whip-poor-will !" 
While tiny bull-frogs seem to say, 

You noisy freaks, be still. 

The brilliant stars, like spots of gold. 

Are coming out on high. 
At first but few, then manifold, 

They're dotted o'er the sky. 
How wonderful was that great plan 

God's wisdom did employ 
To make these glorious things that man 

Might all their fruits enjoy. 



■ rth.^cOl. ...fQl. 



THE LOVELY SUNRISE. 

When night has vanished quite away, 
And gloomy spectres all have fled, 

Aurora ushers in the day. 

And Old Sol lifts his shining head. 

Wherever you may chance to be. 

The heart is filled with fond delight 

Whene'er the sun's bright rays you see. 
At morning's dawn, so pure and bright. 



90 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

If on the ocean, lost from view 

Of home and friends and native land, 

There comes at dawn of day to you, 
A picture beautiful and grand. 

The sun appears to come from out 
The water, like a ball of gold, 

He spreads his glory all about, 
And causes pleasures manifold. 

Or if on mountain's craggy peaks. 
You chance to stand at break of day. 

And see the sun's bright golden streaks 
Upon the mountains fondly play. 

Reflecting on the sparkling spring 
Of crystal water, clear and pure, 

That glorious scene to you will seem 
Like the celestial world, I'm sure. 

And if soft fleecy clouds should chance, 
At sunrise, to be floating o'er 

The sun's bright face, it does enhance 
The grandure of the scene much more. 

Unto the fleecy clouds it gives 
A halo which brings to the mmd 

Thots of that home beyond, where lives 
The loving Savior of mankind. 



nature's beauties 91 

FLOWERS OF SPRING. 

Many bards have sung of Spring, 
Of grasses green and shady bowers; 

But to my mind, the lovliest thing 
Of this glad season is the flowers. 

The golden dandelions peep 

Out early, ere the grass be growing. 

And crocuses so slyly creep. 

Resembling faces brightly glowing. 

The buttercups and daisies, too, 

Up through the grass come springing, 

And violets, of lovely blue, 

Joy to our hearts, — come bringing. 

Spring season brings us many things 

Which tend our hearts to lighten ; 
'Tis sweet to hear the bird that sings, 

But how the flowers brighten! 

They clothe the lawn, bedeck the room. 

They make our pleasures double ; 
They drive away despair and gloom, 

And we forget our trouble. 

The patient lying sick in bed, 

The Doctor's verdict fearing. 
Beholds the flowers, lifts her head, 

And smiles so sweet and cheering. 

Ah, wonderful indeed are these, 

The beautiful spring flowers. 
Which, day by day, ne'er cease to please, 

Thank God, such pleasure's ours. 



92 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

THE BLACKBIRDS. 

Spring has come, and with it, too, 
Blackbirds, beautiful and grand, 

With their coats of shiny hue, 
Have returned to grace our land. 

Proudly perched upon a rail, 
A sleek fellow, whom we see. 

Lifts his wings and bobs his tail, 
And sings merrily, "Bo hee!" 

Flocks and flocks of them appear 
Scattered o'er the meadows green ; 

To our hearts they bring glad cheer, 
And present a graceful scene. 

Welcome birds, we freely give 

Our green fields and trees to you; 

Take possession, happy live. 
We give only what is due. 

You are guardians of our trees. 

For, without you, none would bear 

Precious fruit our hearts to please. 
Therefore, freely take your share. 

Go, sweet birds, and build your nests, 
Choose locations anywhere. 

And with your fond nestlings rest. 
We will promise you our care. 

Build your nest, you need not fear. 
For to you will come no harm 

While you make your dwelling here 
On our quiet peaceful farm. 



nature's beauties 93 

WHEN THE FLOWERS SHOW THEIR FACES. 

Mr. Riley, the great poet, may just write his lines and talk 
'Bout the frost upon the punpkin or the fodder in the 

shock ; 
He may talk about the guineas or the cacklin of the hens, 
Or the goblin of the turkey, or some other odds and ends ; 
Other men may sit and shiver when the frosty autumn 

comes, 
And may say the weather's bracin when the equinoctal 

hums, 
But there isn't any season half so lovely as the spring. 
When the flowers show their faces and the birds begin 

to sing. 

It is very great enjoyment when the little tots are seen 
Romping o'er the great wide meadows, on the grass so 

fresh and green. 
While they pluck the early flowers which they find among 

the grass, 
How their faces beam with pleasure as those lovely days 

they pass ; 
Then just see the little lamkins as they race and skip and 

play. 
Seems as if they, too, were happy ev'ry hour of the day ; 
See the plowman turn the furrows, there is no time sweet 

as spring. 
When the flowers show their faces and the birds begin to 

sing. 

Then the plantin of the taters and the corn and oats and 

all, 
Talk about your frost and pumpkin and your shiv'ring in 

the fall, 



94 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

See the beautiful sweet scented blossoms on the cherry- 
trees, 

On the apple and the peach-tree, you would not compare 
with these, 

The yellow leaves of autumn or the golden ears of corn. 

Or the frost upon the pumpkin on a cold October morn ; 

Let them sing about their pumpkins, I will choose for 
mine the Spring, 

When the flowers show their faces and the birds begin to 
sing. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 95 



(Kunrjoroux^ Soem^. 



WHY HE CAME TO THE PARSON. 

I came ter see yer, Parson, I'm sorry I hed ter cum, 
I'm sorry ter hev ter tell yer, but things haint right ter 

hum; 
Sarah an me's been fightin now fer more than a week ; 
Fer two days she's been sulky an nary a word will speak. 
I haint ter blame, I'm sartin, she kicked up the hull muss, 
If she hed been like me sir, there wouldn't hev been no 

fuss; 
I giv her no occashun fer kickin up a row. 
But she has gone an done it, an thet's why I'm here now. 

I thought I'd better tell yer, I thought mebbe you might 
Cum down to nite and see her and clear things up all 

right ; 
What's that ? Yes, I've pervided all things we need to eat, 
An furnished lots uv clothing to dress her well and neat. 
Where do I spend my ev'nins ? Well, I stay at the store 
Most ev'ry nite a talkin till ten o'clock an more ; 
No, she has no one with her, she stays alone all day, 
Uv course, I haint ter blame sir, my work keeps me away. 

Oh yes, uv course I could sir stay hum ter nights, but still 
I like ter meet my naybors who live up on the hill. 
Who ev'ry nite all gether together at the store. 
It does a feller good sir, to talk his old times o'er. 



96 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

No, Mrs. don't go out sir, thet is, not very much. 
An with her nearest naybors don't often come in touch. 
She haint gone on a visit, I don't b'Heve wunst last year, 
You say she must be lonely, well, thet is true I fear. 

What, I haint done my duty ? You think so, Parson, well, 
Mebbe I haint, but sartin, just where I cannot tell; 
You say my duty's more than pervidin things ter eat, 
Well now, I never thought so, I'll own yer hev me beat ; 
Yer say I orter stay, sir, ter hum with her at nite, 
Yer stay ter hum with your wife ? well now, mebbe you're 

right 
Mebbe my wife has reasons fer causin this here stir, 
I think I'll go at wunst, sir, an make my peace with her. 

I thank yer kindly. Parson, fer v/hat you did advise, 
I see my duty clear now, you've opened my blind eyes ; 
I see how she's been toilin fer years both day an nite, 
While I've bin out a loafin, I see I haint done right ; 
But I ter nite will change sir, the hull uv things an stay 
Ter hum an be her comfort instead uv gone away, 
An if of times I've broken my vows in days of yore, 
I'll promise her from this time I'll break my vows no 
more. 

HOUSE CLEANING. 

The winter's past, the spring has come. 
About our house there is a hum. 
The carpets they are all torn up, 
The cupboards cleared of dish and cup. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 97 



My wife is busy ev'rywhere, 
She scrubs each floor and sill and chair ; 
And she keeps me quite busy, too, 
Ah, these are days when men feel blue ! 

For many days she calls on me 
For help and I respond you see, 
Not in the best of spirits though, 
No use to kick, it must be so. 

Take out those carpets there, says she, 
And beat each one most thoroughly; 
And so I place them on the line 
And then I seize that club of mine. 

Then, with a sigh and heavy thrust, 
I pound their sides, and oh the dust, 
It flies at me like bitter foes 
And fills my ears and eyes and nose! 

And after many a furious stroke 
I've wielded and my back feels broke, 
I think I now some rest will get, 
My wife, she smiles and says. Not yet! 

Go now and tack those carpets down, 
And I obey, although a frown 
No doubt you'll see upon my face, 
As I drive each tack into place. 

And thus it goes a week or more. 
Oh, this house cleaning is a bore; 
I envy Indians, who, in tents. 
Are never bored by such events 
7 



98 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

THE FOOLER FOOLED. 

You ask me, what's the matter, what makes me worry so? 
Well, just sit down a moment and hear my tale of woe; 
I've lost my faithful lover, just through a little joke 
I cracked the first of April, and now my heart is broke. 

Fred Smith has been my fellow for four years now, you 

see, 
I know 'twas his intention to some day marry me ; 
Well, on the first of April, we went out for a ride, 
Fred whispered to me softly, Dear Annie, be my bride? 

Well, being full of mischief, I answered shortly. No! 
Because 'twas first of April, I meant to fool, you know ; 
But Fred was fairly flustered, he turned his horse about 
And drove him swiftly homeward, then told me to step 
out. 

Said I, are you offended ? 'tis April first, you know, 
I only meant to fool you, I did not mean it so ; 
Indeed, I'm more than willing to marry you, so then, 
I'll answer yes directly if you'll ask me again. 

But Fred in anger answered, It was no time to fool, 
I ne'er again will ask you, for I have made a rule, 
Never to ask a woman but once to marry me, 
Your chance is gone for ever, from henceforth I am free. 

Oh Fred, I shrieked, I love you more than all else beside, 
I cannot live without you, oh let me be your bride ! 
It cannot be, he answered, for I vowed long ago, 
I'd ne'er twice ask a woman who once would tell me no. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 99 



He drove away and left me, this is my tale of woe, 
Now, do you greatly wonder why I am worried so ? 
I'd give a world, if need be, to have my chance again. 
How very strange, you never know how to catch some 
men. 

Young girl, whene'er your fellow asks you to be his own, 
Don't go to April fooling, let good enough alone, 
When your beau pops the question, say yes, don't hesitate, 
Or you may see your blunder like I did when too late. 

'^ ® ® 

MY NEIGHBOR'S PLIGHT. 

Mr. neighbor, hear my tale 
Of misery and woe ! 

1 am so well nigh crazy, sir, 
I don't know where to go ; 

I b'lieve I am a nervous wreck, 

I'm weary, sir, of life, 
'Tis all because I'm living with 

A crabbed, scolding wife. 

She works from morning until night, 

She keeps things neat and clean. 
But her glib tongue, it never stops, 

She's always cross and mean ; 
And such a nasty temper, whew! 

If I but say a word, 
She flies off and such rude abuse 

I'm sure I never heard. 



100 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Say neighbor, did you ever, when 

Out working on your farm. 
Stir up a hornet's nest? you did? 

You know things get quite warm 
About that time, and you feel then 

Like taking to your heels ; 
Well, that is just the way a man 

In my position feels. 

One day I told my wife, said I, 

If I had let my tongue 
And temper loose like you have done, 

I'd long ago been hung; 
And did I stir a hornet's nest? 

Well, I should say I did. 
And in hot haste I took myself 

Out to the barn and hid. 
What's that you say, get a divorce? 

Oh no, indeed, not I. 
We're married forty years, I'll stay 

With her until I die. 
Or till she dies, one of the two. 

For better or for worse 
I married her, and I'll remain 

Till I ride in a hearse. 

I might reform her, did you say? 

Of that I have my doubt. 
The Devil's in her heart so big, 

There's none can drive him out ; 
I ne'er expect to find sweet peace 

Until I go away 
From this dark world of gloom and woe, 

I'm longing for that day. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 101 



A DUTCHMAN'S EULOGY OF WASHINGTON. 

Sheorge Vashington vas a goot poy, 

He told yust vat vas so ; 
He vas not like some poys totay, 

Vat say, Veil I tont know! 

Ven Sheorge shopped town dat sherry tree 

Und his dad got a stick, 
Und Sheorge vas so afraid dat him 

His dad vas gone to lick, 

Sheorge yust sot town to tink avile, 

Said he, Vat will I do? 
De truth vill me von licken cotch, 

A lie vill cotch me two. 

Und ven his dad asked who it vas 

Dat shopped town his nice tree, 
Sheorge said, mit big tears in his eyes, 

Boo-hoo dad, dat vas me ! 

Ya, Sheorge vas very goot to tell 

His dad vat yust vas right. 
He vas much petter as my Hans, 

He vas, by a great site. 

Ven my Hans does a trick like dat, 

No matter if I see 
Him do it, he vill always say, 

Oh no, dat vas not me! 

I pounds him hard as never vas. 

He yells and runs away. 
But still he tells me great big lies, 

A dozen ev'ry tay. 



102 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Veil, ven Sheorge V^ashington growd up, 
Dem Shonny Pulls corned o'er 

And kicked up yust an awful fuss 
Upon our peaceful shore. 

Den Sheorge corned out mit his hatchet 

A hangin py his side, 
And slashed dem fellows right and left, 

Und soon made dem go died. 

Und den dem Shonny Pulls dey stay 

Away de sea across, 
Und all de peoples here dey said, 

Now, Sheorge, you be our boss. 

Und den dey built a great big town 
Und called it Vashington, 

In honor of dat man who for 
Our country vict'ry won. 

Den built for him a great big house, 

Dey called it Capitol, 
Den von tay Sheorge he vas go died, 

Now den, I've tolt you all. 

Und on de twenty-second tay 

Of February, ve 
Should always make great speeches like 

Dis von yust made by me. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 1()3 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S DILEMMA. 

'Tis funny, deed it is, to hear 
An Englishman, he talks so queer ; 
He drops his H where there is one 
And puts one on where there is none. 

A Yankee heats his soup then eats. 
The Johnny Bull eats his then heats, 
When I spell life I start with L, 
While he begins the same with Hell. 

Ah, that reminds me of a joke 

I heard about my friend Tom Koke, 

An Englishman I often meet 

When I go strolling down Main Street. 

The joke was this, he one day tried 
To use the phone, he rang, then cried. 
Please central, give me five, two, hell [ 
Of course he wanted five, two, L. 

But central did not understand 
The gentleman from British Land, 
So she replied, What letter sir? 
And Tommy sharply answered her, 

The figures are, five, two, and, well, 
The letter that I want is Hell ! 
Back came the answer clear and fine, 
That place, sir, isn't on our line. 



104 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

THREE DUTCHMAN WHO COULD EACH 
SPEAK ONE SENTENCE IN ENGLISH. 

Three dutchmen, fresh from the old fatherland, 
Along a railroad once wended their way, 
Searching for work, and the legend relates. 
Each but one sentence in English could say. 

The first one, named Strauss, could only repeat, 
"Us three dutchmen" ; the second, named Wesser, 
Could say, "Fifteen cents." while the third named Max, 
Could say distinctly, "Sooner de besser." 

As they journeyed along, they chanced to find 
A dead man, who by a train had been killed. 
Those three dutchmen stopped and gazed upon him, 
While the heart of each one with pity was filled. 

A trav'ler drew near, who beholding the corpse. 
Addressed the dutchmen in English. Said he. 
Who murdered this man? Then Strauss made reply, 
Us three dutchmen, then grinned waggishly. 

And what was it for? the man said again. 
Fifteen cents, at once answered Wesser. 
Well, you'll all be hung, the man made reply. 
Then Max, with a grin said. Sooner de besser. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 105 



SAM STEELE'S DURHAM BULL. 

Sam Steele had a bull of the durham kind, 
As sleek and as round as any you'd find, 
And he weighed the greater part of a ton, 
He was greatly admired by most ev'ry one. 

The Steele farm was near to old Hannastown, 
A quaint little village of great renown, 
Because the bloodthirsty Indians one day 
Had set it on fire and burned it away. 

This monstrous big bull had for his abode, 
A meadow which bordered upon the high-road ; 
Where he ate and drank and murmured, Moo-oo ! 
While the little black terrier would answer, Boo-woo! 

This bull was quite gentle, and, until full grown, 
Was easily approached, he never was known 
To attack either man, little boy or fair maid. 
So no one who knew him was ever afraid. 

It happened one day, in the year eighty-two. 
That the people turned out, patriotic and true. 
To attend a centennial at old Hannastown 
Which a century before the Indians burned down. 

As if fate decreed it, a large city band. 

Inside that bull's meadow had taken its stand. 

For several hours those players stood there. 

And sweet strains of music rang out through the air. 

Then all of a sudden there came a loud roar, 
As if the war cannons were turned loose once more ; 
The drummer turned round to see what had come, 
When the big durham bull ran his head through his drum. 



106 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Then, raging and snorting, away that bull sped 
Right through the large crowd, with the drum on his 
Across the green meadows, up the hill-top, [head, 

Still snorting and mooing, to frightened to stop. 

At last, after struggling, he threw off the drum, 
Then facing the crowd, who, to view him, had come, 
He seemed wont to say, I'm a beast of renown. 
For didn't I celebrate old Hannastown? 

THERE'D BE NO USE FER LAWYERS IF ALL 
FOLKS LIVED LIKE US. 

Good momin. Lawyer Jackson, I've jes bin readin about 
A tale found in "Farm Ballads," called "Betsy and I are 

out," 
'Twas written by Will Carl'ton, a smart man he must be 
To write about em scrappers that couldn't never agree; 
I low thar war hair pullin twixt at ere man an wife, 
But with us, sir, 'tis diff'rent, we don't live sich a life; 
My wife an me agree, sir, we don't ne'er fight nor fuss, 
There'd be no use fer lawyers if all folks lived like us. 

The trouble with that couple, they both bad tempers had, 
You see it took but leetle to make both of em mad ; 
When she had her opinion, she firmly to it stuck, 
He did the same with his'n an so they had bad luck ; 
Had it bin me an Minnie that had lost at ere cow, 
I wouldn't have kicked a quarrel about the question how, 
I wouldn't have, like some fellers, stirred up a ugly muss, 
There'd be no use fer lawyers if folks behaved like us. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 107 



If folks would larn to govern their tempers ev'ry day 
And each give in a leetle, they'd find that it would pay ; 
Don't think I mean to say, sir, that I don't now an then 
Say things that's unbecomin to the decentest kind of men ; 
I'll own sometimes my temper, an Min's, too, fer all that, 
Will break loose with all fury an then we'll have a spat, 
But we never call hard names, sir, nor rip nor swear an 

cuss, 
There'd be no use fer lawyers if folks were all like us. 

What is that application you're riten out, I see. 
Divorce sir, some more persons, who couldn't quite agree? 
Only three months married, an now they want to part ? 
O dear me, that is dreadful, it well nigh breaks my heart. 
He says she's been unfaithful the past two months, while 

he 
Has borne his lot with patience an toiled unceasingly? 
You never would have sich cases like that one to discuss, 
You'd have to quit the bizness if folks agreed like us. 

Of course the best men sometimes will do things hastily. 
Things don't go smooth at all times atwixt my wife an 

me; 
But if there is a diff'rence, I keep on the alert 
An I will never say things that will her feelins hurt; 
Twelve years now we've bin married, and still our honey- 
moon 
Has never yet passed over, I hope it will not soon, 
Though we may sometimes jangle, we do not quarrel nor 

fuss, 
We soon would have no lawyers if all folks lived like us. 



108 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

We have our fam'ly worship afore we go to bed, 
An then we kiss the same as the nite that we wuz wed 
An ev'ry day her kisses seem to grow e'en more sweet, 
Her slender form an features seem jist as fair an neat 
As on that nite the preacher pronounced we two as one, 
The days of our embracin I'm sure will ne'er be done, 
Fer I still call her pet names an o'er her make a fuss. 
You lawyers would soon starve, sir, if all folks lived 
like us. 

THE TWO CONGRESSMEN. 

Two congressmen, some years ago. 

Were seated in the throng 
At Washington, one came from town, 

The other did belong 
To that ere class of people who 

Work hard at pullin weeds, 
Whom city sports, contemptuously, 

Sometimes call ole hayseeds ; 
I've alers bin a farmer, sir, 

An alers will be one, 
I'll stick to my ole rural home 

Until my days are done; 
As long as I have strength, I'll work, 

An when my strength is gone, 
An I'm too ole to plow or hoe, 

I'll live with my son John. 

But 'tis about em congressmeii 
I have a tale to tell ; 
One day a bill was introduced 
By Mr. Henry Bell, 



HUMOROUS POEMS 109 



The city congressman, he said, 

That his bill would relieve 
The lab'rin man, but Farmer Hay 

Said, he did not believe 
It would, that his opinion was 

The bill was just a plan 
To help the rich, an jist a scheme 

To rob the lab'rin man. 
Then Mr. Bell said, with a sneer. 

While someone muttered, Hi-i-ss ! 
Now what does that ole hayseed know 

About a thing like this? 

Then Farmer Hay riz up an said, 

Please, Mr. Speaker, I 
Will to that city chuckle-head, 

Jist make a short reply ; 
One day, last year, that man come out 

To spend a day with me 
Upon my farm, he run about 

All o'er the place to see 
The wheat an corn a growin up, 

The taters in the ground. 
He spent the day all out of doors. 

He went a toddlin round 
Frum place to place, he viewed the cows, 

The bosses an the sheep, 
An said his visit to my farm, 

He did enjoy a heap. 

When I went out that afternoon 
To let my bosses loose, 
I seed that man a followin up 
A big ole mother goose 



110 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

That had ten gosHns waddlin by, 

He kep on all that day 
A foll'win them, then said to me, 

'Tis funny, Mr. Hay, 
I've watched that goose all afternoon, 

While she the grass blades plucked, 
To see if I could find out how 

Them little goslins sucked. 

A roar of laughter sounded forth. 
Bell's face to crimson turned. 

The speaker, with a smile, then said, 
This meeting stands adjourned. 



BARBARY FRIGERATOR. 

It vas down in dem cornfields by de vay, 
On von bright varm September tay, 
Dere stood de vails of Fredericktown, 
Close by dem mountains vinding down. 

Und near py dem dose apple trees 
Und peach trees dot de eyes vould please, 
It made dem rebels stummicks thump. 
As day came by mit hop and shump. 

For 'twas on dot September tay, 
Dat Stonywall Shack did march dot vay, 
Mit horse and mule he come to town. 
Over de mountains tumbling down. 



HUMOROUS POEMS 111 



Und in der vinds dere flapped dat tay, 
Yust forty flags de people say, 
But van py noon de tay vas done 
De people den could see not von. 

But old Barbary Frigerator den, 

Who vas old py fourscore years und ten, 

Und braver than dot rebel wag, 

She yust snatched up dot good old flag, 

Und in de vindow it did set 

To show she vouldn't give up yet. 

Den up de street come Stonywall Shack, 
A riding on his old mule's back, 
Mit his old slouch hat on his head. 
He glanced und dis is vat he said. 

Halt, dere hangs a yankee flag! 
Now fire and shoot de dirty rig! 
Out plazed dem guns so awful shrill, 
But Barbary Frigerator vas dere still. 

Und den she yust peeped out und said, 
Shoot if you must dis old bald head, 
But you yust let dat old flag be 
Or you vill haf to deal mit me ! 

Den Stonywall Shack he yust looked down 
Und o'er his face vas spread a frown. 
But pooty soon looked up und said, 
Who pulls a hair from dat bald head 
Vas dead already, skip right along, 
Und avay den vent dat rebel throng. 



112 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

All day long dat flag did vave, 

Emblem of de true und de brave, 

Ven evening come de sun's big light 

Looked down und laughed und said, Good night ! 

Barbary Frigerator she vas now dead, 
Und Stonywall Shack, dot rebel, has led 
His men to war for de very last time, 
Dey both now live in dat beautiful clime 
Avay up dere in dat bright blue sky, 
Vere no gims boom, und no bullets fly. 
Now softly over both their graves. 
The good old Stars and Stripes still vaves. 

® < » ® 

BACKWOODS JIM'S LECTURE TO THE HIGH 
SCHOOL STUDENTS. 

'T aint no scientist, not me ; 

I don't know much philosophy, 

I never went to college nor 

To even High School, little more 

'N readin, riten's all I got, 

Cause, as you know, it was my lot 

To be uv common backwoods kind, 

No chance to elevate my mind." 

"But there's occashuns, now an then. 
You'll find thare is some backwoods men 
That hev as much good sense an brain 
As enny, an if they could train 



HUMOROUS POEMS 113 



Their intellect, they'd stand in line 
With Lincoln an great men who shine 
Before the world, an I might, too, 
If I hed chances you boys do." 

"Some men hev minds so weak an glum. 
They are too dum to know they're dum; 
But that aint me, I don't know much. 
But I aint classed along with such ; 
I ne'er went much to school, I'm slow. 
But still I'm glad I learned to know 
That others knowd much more than me, 
That's one thing I could plainly see." 

"I knowd a feller wunst that walked 
Down street one day an stopped an talked 
With diff'rent friends, an all ud say, 
'Why, what's the matter. Brown, today, 
You must be sick, you're pale as death ?' 
An all ud stop and hold their breath ; 
But Brown jist answered, 'No sir ee, 
I'm jist as well as I kin be!" 

"But ev'rywhare he went that day, 
Some one ud stop him an ud say, 
Persumably in great surprise, 
'Why, Brown, you're sick, indeed your eyes 
Hev really got a death like stare!' 
'Twas jist made up, so they could scare 
Brown into b'lieving he was sick, 
An they succeeded in they're trick." 



114 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

"Fer by the time six men hed said 
That he was sick, he went to bed, 
An sent off fer the Doctor, too; 
An Doc he come, but he seen through 
The joke, an said, 'You're very ill, 
Fer one whole week you must lay still !' 
An fer a week there laid ole Brown, 
As well as enny man in town." 

"Imagination, that was it! 
Ole Brown, he wasn't sick one bit ; 
But we are made uv common clay, 
An some get fooled most ev'ry day 
Because some uv us are too slow 
To ketch on to what others know ; 
An let me say that such you'll find 
Aint alays uv the backwoods kind." 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 115 



poemx*) iJor (SftlPSlren. 

THE GOBLINS ROUND MY BED. 

One nite my sister read to me 
That poem Riley rote about 
Them ugly goblins that he said 
"Will git you if you don't watch out," 
An nen she took me up to bed 
An tucked me in an said, Good nite! 
Nen waited till I went to sleep, 
An nen she took away the lite. 

Nen after while I waked an saw 
A hundred goblins round my bed ; 
One was all mouth, an one all eyes, 
An one was ist a gra big head; 
Nen one jumped up on top my bed 
An winked his big green eyes at me. 
An one gapped his big jaws, I thought 
That he was gone to swallow me. 

Nen I ist cried with all my mite. 

An in come runnin my mamma 

An said, "What is the matter, dear? 

Nen I told her that I ist saw 

A hundred goblins runnin round, 

An jumpin on my little bed, 

Nen she ist laffed with all her mite, 

"You ist think so, my dear," she said. 



116 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

"There are no goblins child," said she, 
"O yes, there is, Mamma," I said ; 
"I saw a hundred runnin round, 
One had big green eyes in his head." 
But she ist laffed an said, "You dreamed 
You saw them," but I ist don't care 
What people say, I saw them an 
I'm sure there was a hundred there. 



THE POLYWOG. 

Wunst I went down to a big pond. 
It was that one ist beyond 
My Uncle Henry's barn, you know 
That place where such big cattails grow, 
An calamus, an stuff like that ; 
Well, I went down an I ist sat 
Down on a gra big stone beside 
The pond, I tell you it was wide. 

Then purty soon I seed a frog 
A sittin on a gra big log. 
His back was green as grass an he 
Sat there an ist looked right at me ; 
Nen I ist laffed an said, Ho, ho ! 
I guess he thought I said. Go, go ! 
Fer he ist gave a jump an nen 
I did not see that frog again. 

Nen I looked in the water where 
It wasn't deep, an I seed there 
A funny thing, it was all head 
An tail, I laffed an nen I said. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 117 



Ho, ho ! what is this thing I see ? 
It's ist as funny as kin be ; 
Nen I caught it an held it tight, 
An I runned home with all my might. 

When I got home I showed my ma 
The funny thing, she laffed, Ha, ha! 
Nen said. That is a tadpole, dear, 
That is the way they first appear 
When they are hatched out of the eggs, 
By an by it will have legs 
And soon 'twill turn into a frog. 
Sometimes 'tis called a polywog. 

Nen after that I had good fun 
Fer ev'ry afternoon I'd run 
Down to the pond and watch the wogs 
As they grow'd up into big frogs ; 
But now the pond is frozen o'er, 
An I can't see the wogs no more, 
But summer days will come an nen 
I'll see my little wogs again. 



THE PRETTIEST GIRL I EVER SAW. 

The boys at school, most ev'ry day, 
Jist laugh and talk the silliest way 
About the prettiest girls they know. 
From morn till eve, 'tis Floss and Flo 
And Bessie Brown and Sally Gray, 
I hear the same old song each day, 
It makes a sober scholar feel 
Like throwing up his noonday meal. 



118 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Sometimes they go to teasing me, 

They laugh and say, Hi, hi, Jimmee ! 

Come tell us now what girl you think 

Is prettiest, and then they wink 

At one another, but I play 

My little game just then, and say, 

The prettiest girl I ever saw. 

Is my own darling sweet mamma ! 

® ® © 

THE BOYS' THANKSGIVING DAY. 

Thanksgiving Day, Thanksgiving Day! 
We boys are happy, free and gay ; 
No school today, and Oh, the sun 
Is shining bright, now for some fun ; 
The air's just cool enough today 
For boys to romp and race and play. 
We'll roam the meadows, climb the hill. 
With laughter we the air will fill. 

Kind mother will prepare a roast, 
A turkey gobbler, none can boast 
Of better grub than our's today, 
When we come rushing in from play, 
And see old gobbler done so brown, 
Upon the table, we'll sit down 
And smack our lips and go um, um. 
And say. Please mother, give me some. 

Then, while we eat, mother will say. 
Boys, we must not forget today, 
That there are poor who cannot eat 
Such meals as ours, that we must treat 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 119 

All such with kindness, try to make 
Them happy, then we say. We'll take 
Some good things to old Aunty Moore, 
For she is sick and very poor. 

Then, after we have ate our fill, 
With basket filled, across the hill 
We go and soon we reach the door 
Of the small house of Aunty Moore. 
It is a treat to see her face 
Light up with joy when we boys place 
The good things all before her there, 
And hear her say, "Well, I declare!" 

Then out again to run about. 

With merry laughter, cheer and shout ; 

we just have such splendid sport, 
The day for us is much too short ;, 
But ev'ning comes at last, and so. 
All hungry, we to supper go, 
Then soon all sound asleep are we, 
The day is now but memory. 

FARMER RINGER'S GANDER. 

There is a gander in the pen 
Down at old farmer Ringer's ; 
Of all the poultry in his flock. 
He is the chief of singers. 

When I go down to play with Ed, 

1 very soon can hear him, 

For he just screams with all his might, 
The moment I come near him. 



120 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

When I come near he drops his head, 
And comes at me a hissing, 
And makes a dive as if he'd like 
To give my feet a kissing. 

One time I poked my foot at him, 
It brought me awful woe, sir, 
For quick as flash he made a dash 
And caught me by the toe, sir. 

And he hung on for quite awhile, 
I pulled, while loudly crying, 
Till Mrs. Ringer came and said, 
I thought you were a dying. 

She took a club and drove him off, 
Thanks for her prompt assistance. 
But since that day, from that old pen, 
I keep at a safe distance. 



TWO GIRLS I KNOW. 

I know two girls 'bout big as me, 
An they're ist diff'rent as can be; 
The name of one is Mary Ann, 
An she's the bestest girl, she can 
Ist run an play all day with me. 
An laff so sweet, you never see 
Her pout nor hear her scold or bawl, 
She never does bad things at all. 

If I fall down or stub my toe. 
She don't make fun, but says, O-oh ! 
Poor little boy at was too bad, 
Nen purty soon she makes me glad ; 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 131 

Nen off again, upon a run, 
We go an have the bestest fun, 
Yes, I Hke her an she hkes me, 
An ev'ry day we can agree. 

The other girl is Sarah Rigg, 

An she ist thinks at she is big ; 

But I ist hate to see the day 

When she comes round, if she'd ist stay 

At home I'm sure I'd Hke it well, 

Fer when she comes she takes a spell 

Of madness an ist jaws about, 

Till I get mad an we fall out. 

She never pities me at all 

When I get hurt, but says, Now bawl, 

Big baby, quick, run tell your ma 

I throwd you down, he he, ha ha! 

Nen I get awful mad an say, 

I will not play another day 

With you, an you shant play with me, 

Nen I run off an leave her be. 



POND LILIES 

Pretty lilies in the pond, 

How you smile on me ; 
Though my reach you're far beyond, 

Yet I joy to see 
Your bright faces smiling sweet, 

Bringing such good cheer 
To your many friends you greet, 

Who come strolling here. 



122 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

In the morning you appear 

Very wide awake, 
But when ev'ning's shades draw near, 

You prepare to take 
Your night's rest, and gently fold 

Your bright petals tight, 
Shelt'ring you from damp and cold 

Through the livelong night. 

MY BLACK PLAYMATE. 

I know a negro boy, an he 
Is ist as black as he can be ; 
But he can make the mostest fun, 
Fer he can hop an jump an run 
An dance an turn a somerset 
An nen stand on his head an get 
Up on the fence an walk along, 
An he ist sings the funniest song. 

I play with him most ev'ry day, 
Sometimes some stuck up folks will say 
To ma, Why do you let your Ben 
Play with at nigger boy, an nen 
My ma she up an says. Take care 
Ist what you say, at boy out ere, 
If he is black, is ist as good 
As any in this neighborhood ! 

If he is black, he's never mean, 
An his young heart is ist as clean 
As any heart at ever beat ; 
She tells em 'tis a shame to treat 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 123 



A boy so mean because his skin 

Is black, an if they'd ist look in 

To their own hearts, they'd find, no doubt, 

They's black inside as he is out. 

Nen after they have et her pill. 
They curl their lips but ist keep still. 



WHAT I SAW ON THE BIG ROAD. 

Wunst I went down the big long road. 
An I ist seed the biggest toad 
At ever hopped about, I guess, 
Nen I went. Booh! an nen he jes 
Hopped off into the grass an nen 
I never seed at toad again. 

An nex a tumble-bug I found 
A rollin a big ball around. 
Right in the middle of the road. 
An nen the first thing at I knowd, 
Anuther bug filed there, nen they 
Both rolled at ball around fer play. 

When I got home I told my ma 
About the bugs an toad I saw, 
Nen she ist laffed an said, My son, 
I spose you had a lot of fun. 



124 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

MY MA'S GRIDDLE CAKES. 

My ma she ist so often makes 
The nicest, sweetest griddle cakes, 
She mixes up a lot of stuff, 
Nen laffs an says, "Guess ats enough 
To make a meal fer Pa and me 
An James an Tom an Margery; 
An nen she bakes fer quite awhile 
Till she has made a gra big pile. 

An nen she rings our dinner bell, 
Nen Carlo he sets up a yell, 
An our old gobbler gobbles so, 
An bossy moos so soft an low ; 
Nen Pa unhitches Nell an Jin 
An feeds em an nen he comes in, 
Nen we all eat our cakes an nen 
Pa soon goes out to plow again. 

Wunst when my ma baked cakes I et 
Too many an I wont ferget 
How my poor stummick ached, yi, yi, 
I thought at night at I would die! 
Nen Ma she said, My boy you've got 
The colic, but I said, I've not, 
Fer I knowd well fer at at she 
Would give some castor oil to me. 

But she went out an very soon 
Come back with a big tablespoon 
Chuck full of castor oil an poured 
It down my throat, nen I ist roared, 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 125 

Ugh, Ugh, I cried, at ugly stuff, 
Next time, said she, ist eat enough, 
An not too much rich griddle cake, 
Nen you will have no oil to take. 

IN BOYHOOD DAYS * 

When we were boys, out on the farm. 
In springtime, when the days were warm, 
In meadows green we'd romp and play 
And wade the brook not far away. 

There stood near by a willow tree, 

So beautiful and shady, we. 

Beneath its shade, day after day. 

With wild delight, would romp and play. 

But many years have passed since then ; 
We, who were boys, have grown to men ; 
We've faced life's cares, and silver threads 
Can now be seen upon our heads. 

But the little brook still flows along 
And sings the same sweet happy song 
As in our youthful days it sung 
When we were happy, gay and young. 

And, as once more, I walk along 
Upon its banks and hear its song, 
I call to mind the days of yore. 
Then I feel like a boy once more. 



* The frontispiece cut Illustrates this poem. 



126 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

CAW, CAW ! YAW, YAW ! 

Upon an oak sat a big black crow, 

Caw, caw ! caw, caw ! 
On the ground sat a jolly young Sambo, 

Yaw, yaw ! yaw, yaw ! 
Said the old black crow, I'll fly away, 

Caw, caw! caw, caw! 
Young Sambo said, All right, I'll stay, 

Yaw, yaw! yaw, yaw! 



LITTLE THINGS. 

Dear little children, never think 
That you, because you're small. 
Have no important place to fill. 
There's work for one and all. 

A little star, up in the sky, 
Alone makes little light. 
But millions of such little stars 
Can make the whole world bright. 

So too, you little children can. 

If each will do his part. 

Shed light around the world and bring 

Joy to the broken heart. 

Then let your little lights e'er shine, 
Strive some kind act to do 
Each day, and Jesus Christ will send 
His blessing down to you. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 12' 

WHEN ME AND LUCY RUN'D AWAY. 

Me an Lucy run'd off one day, 
Way, way down the big long road ; 
We run'd till we wuz far away 
Frum all the houses that we know'd. 

We had big fun I ist tell you. 
We seed so many, many things, 
An wunst I chased a butterfly 
At had sich pwitty yellow wings. 

An nen we cum'd to a big tree 
Wiv a big roun black hole in it, 
Nen I said, Lucy, let's sit down 
Right here an rest a yittle bit. 

I foun a big long hollow stick 
An blowed in it, it went, Toot, toot! 
An nen I heard up in at tree, 
Somefin hollerin out. Hoot, hoot! 

Me an Lucy we bofe jumped up 
So quick, an looked up in at tree 
An nen we bofe was awful skeered, 
Fer what you think we there did see? 

A gra big ugly fing wiv eyes 
As big around as dollars, yes, 
An bigger, too, they wuz as big 
As mamma's dinner plates, I guess. 

Well, we run'd up the road again 
As fast as we could go, nen I 
Looked back an seed the ugly fing 
Flap two big wings an at us fly. 



128 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Nen Lucy cried so awful loud, 
An I got skeerd an I cried, too, 
It's a big goblin after us, 

papa, papa, mamma, oo-oo! 

An nen I heerd my papa laff , 

An say. Tut, tut, what's all this fuss? 

1 tell you we wuz glad, jist then. 
He happened to be huntin us. 

Said papa. What you's cryin fer? 
Said I, that ugly goblin, see 
If you had not cum'd when you did, 
He would o gobbled sis an me. 

An nen he ist let out a roar 
An said. That is an owl, my dear. 
He makes an ugly noise, 'tis true. 
But he'll not hurt you, have no fear. 

An nen we all ist laffed, the owl 
Said hoot, an flied back to his den, 
Nen papa took'd us bofe back home, 
We never run'd away again. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 129 

TOO BAD. 

A big piece o' cake 
An a big piece o' pie, 
Mamma ist laid em by 
Fer the boy at don't lie; 
Little Tommy he came nigh 
An give a gra big sigh 
An he pert near did cry, 
But he ist said, O my! 
At ere boy isn't I, 
Cause I ist tole a lie. 

IF IT WEREN'T FER WASHIN THE DISHES. 

I'd jist like to be a gurl. 

If it weren't fer washin the dishes ; 

Just see my sister May whurl 

Her long hair until it swishes ; 

She stands before the big glass, 

And still she will crimp and curl 

Two hours or more there she'll pass, 

How nice 'tis to be a gurl, 

If it weren't fer washin the dishes. 

A gurl has a splendid time. 

Except when she's washin the dishes ; 

See her strut by, how sublime, 

As gay as the speckled trout fishes ; 

She giggles when passin the boys. 

Oh how many must be her joys 

Jist see her go by with a whurl, 

Yes, I'd like to be a gurl. 

If it weren't fer washin the dishes. 



130 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

HOW MY SIN FOUND ME OUT. 

One day my mamma went away 
To neighbor Brown's, but not to stay; 
She just went over there to see 
If she could get some catnip tea, 
So she could give our baby some, 
I know'd that very soon she'd come 
Back home again, and so I hiked 
Away to sneak something I liked. 

I always did like cinnamon, 
I know'd there was a box up on 
The cubboard shelf, I got a chair, 
I thot that I would climb up there 
And get a big spoon full to eat, 
I laffed and said, I'll have a treat, 
And she will never know that I 
Could clime up to a place so high. 

So I climed up and took a spoon — 
Full in my mouth, but very soon 
My mouth began to burn, yi, yi ! 
As if it wuz on fire, then I 
Run to the bucket on the sink. 
And swallered down a gra big drink; 
But water made it worse, then I, 
With all my might, begun to cry. 

Just then my mamma stepped inside, 
And asked the reason why I cried ; 
"O-oo, O-oo," I cried, "O-oo, 
My mouth, my mouth is burning so !' 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 331 

Then she looked in my mouth to see, 
Then she begun to question me, 
"You've gotten into mischief, son, 
Come tell me now, what you have done. 

At last I told her' all, then she 
Looked on the cubboard shelf to see. 
She soon begun to laff, and said, 
"You took red pepper, son, instead 
Of cinnamon, and now, don't you 
See what wrong doing leads you to? 
In your case, there's no room for doubt, 
Your sin did surely find you out." 

"And now, my child, this lesson learn, 
And all your pain to good will turn ; 
No good e'er comes of doing wrong. 
And he who does it joins the throng 
Who, on their journey, strike the trail 
Which leads to ruin and the jail. 
Remember dear, then what I say, 
And you will never go astray." 

Her words made my heart burn within, 
I saw the greatness of my sin, 
I earnestly resolved to do 
What my dear mamma wished me to. 
And many times since then, I've said, 
"I'm glad 'twas red pepper instead 
Of cinnamon, I chanced to take, 
For much good came of that mistake. 



132 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

THE YALLER-JACKETS' NEST. 

Bert Poole and brother Will and me 
And Jack McCall and short Tommie, 
His brother, all went out one day 
Into the gra big woods to play ; 
And purty soon I looked around 
And seed a round hole in the ground, 
With yaller- jackets comin out, 
J jumped and run and gave a shout. 

"O boys, I yelled, see what I found !" 
The boys all come a runnin round 
To see the thing, I said, "Look there. 
And you'd better ev'ry one take care!" 
"A yaller- jackets' nest!" said Will, 
"Come on now boys, and let us fill 
Our pockets full of stones and throw 
Them at the nest, hurrah, ho, ho ! 
O wont we have a lot of fun? 
Now, I'll throw first, then you all run 
As fast as ever you can go, 
Fer they'll be after us I know !" 

Will throw'd a stone, and out they come 
A circlin round with angry hum. 
All just as mad as they could be, 
A lookin fer their enemy; 
Then I sneaked up on my tiptoes. 
When spat, there come aginst my nose, 
A small sharp point stung me, then I 
Run back and then begun to cry. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 133 

Then Tom McCall stood by a tree 
And laffed with all his might at me, 
Just then a yaller- jacket flew 
And stung the point of his nose, too; 
Then he begun to bawl, and I 
Fergot my hurt, I couldn't cry 
Fer laffin at young Tom, cause he 
Was stung on the same place as me. 

We come up there, most ev'ry day. 
Into the woods, to run and play; 
Of all our fun, that was the best 
To stone that yaller- jackets' nest; 
When one got stung, the others all 
Would laff and shout to hear him bawl ; 
Those happy days I'll ne'er ferget, 
I laff to think of them e'en yet. 

%) 99 99 

THE HORNET'S NEST. 

O, I remember well, when young, 
A great big hornet's nest that hung 
Upon an apple limb quite low. 
And how we used to often throw 
Stones at the nest, then run and hide, 
While swarms of hornets circled wide 
Beneath the spreading apple tree. 
Seeking to find their enemy. 

Once Tip, my little terrier, stood 
Beneath the nest, I thot I would 
Now have some fun at his expense, 
I should have had much better sense: 



134 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

So, picking up a stone, I threw, 
Then out a swarm of hornets flew. 
And as no one but Tip was near. 
They stung him on both nose and ear. 

I laffed, but soon I saw that he 
Was running fast, right toward me. 
With hornets circling round him thick, 
Ah, dearly I paid for my trick ; 
I ran as if my feet had wings, 
But soon I felt the hornets' stings, 
For Tip o'ertook me, and his foes 
Stung me on ears and eyes and nose. 

Poor Tip ran yelping, so did I, 
My mother heard both of us cry, 
She laffed at me and said, "Ha Ben, 
Been stoning hornets' nests again ? 
I hope you now are satisfied 
With sport like that," and I replied, 
"Yes mother, with that kind of fun, 
I'll promise you that I am done!" 

HOW I KETCHED A BUMBLEBEE. 

Wun time my brother Will an me 

Wuz watchin a big bumblebee 

A buzzin roun the hollyhocks 

That growd along our front yard walks ; 

He bummed so lazily about. 

Into a hollyhock, nen out, 

Nen in a nuther wun he'd go, 

An all the time kep buzzin so. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 135 



Will said to me, "Now watch me how 
I'm gone to ketch that feller now !" 
When he flied into wun again, 
Will squeezed it shut right quick an nen 
Pulled off the hollyhock an soon 
We heerd that bee hummin a tune; 
We bofe laffed loud, it wuz sich fun, 
1st nen I seed a nuther wun. 

I'm gone to ketch that wun, I said, 
1st nen I seed him stick his head 
Into a hollyhock, nen I 
Pressed it together, but, yi, yi! 
That bumblebee stuck his point froo 
That hollyhock, I cried, "Boo hoo!" 
Ma heerd me cry, nen she called out, 
"Boys, what is all that noise about?' 

An nen I cried again, "Boo hoo!" 
Will said, "Don't cry, you baby you!" 
An nen he laffed an told ma how 
I had got stung, nen ma said, "Now 
Will, you are older an you ought 
To have known better!" nen she got 
A stick an whipped him hard till he 
1st bawled much louder yet than me. 



THE BULLFROG. 

The bullfrog is a funny fellow, 
His head is green, his breast is yellow, 
His eyes are always bulging out, 
He looks just like a lazy lout. 



136 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

But he's not lazy, he's quite smart, 
If you come near him he will start 
As quick as flash, with one big leap, 
He plunges in the mud so deep. 

All summer long he hops about. 
Into the pond he goes, then out 
Again he comes, when all is still, 
He sings his little song so thrill. 

When winter comes, he'll disappear. 
For months his song we will not hear; 
All winter long, both day and night, 
He's buried deep, all out of sight. 

But when warm days of Spring appear. 
His merry song again we'll hear, 
And soon we'll see him on the shore. 
As fat and plump as e'er before. 

We're always glad to hear him sing, 
His song assures us that bright Spring 
Has come again, yes, we all long. 
Each year, to hear the frogs' sweet song. 

A GREAT DAY IS COMING. 

A day is coming, children, 
But none of us knows when, 
The day the good Lord Jesus 
Will come to earth again ; 
He'll gather us together, 
The good ones all will stay 
And live with Him forever. 
The bad he'll drive away. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 137 



The good he'll take to heaven, 
In mansions bright to dwell, 
The bad ones, the old Devil 
Will take right down to hell ; 
O try and be good children, 
Whene'er you work or play, 
Be kind to ev'rybody, 
And don't forget to pray. 

Don't spend the Sabbath fishing 
Or swimming in the pool, 
Be always found attending 
The Church and Sunday-school; 
And read your Bible often, 
Be always good and true, 
And when the good Lord Jesus 
Shall come, he'll say to you, 

"Come now, my faithful servant, 
You have been good and true. 
Come see the nice bright mansion 
I have prepared for you." 
Will you not then be happy, 
And don't you think 'twill pay, 
For such a golden mansion, 
To serve Him ev'ry day? 



WHEN I DISOBEYED MY PA. 

Wun day my pa he said to me : 
"Ben, leave the big hay cutter be, 
An do not try to make it go" ; 
Because, he said, I didn't know 



138 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



1st where to take a hold of it, 
An it might hurt me quite a bit ; 
Nen he went off to stay all day, 
An I went to our barn to play. 

When I come in, right near the door, 
I seed the cutter on the floor ; 
"O ho," I said, "It would be fun 
To make that big old cutter run ! 
I don't see why pa says I shant, 
If I ist turn the crank, I can't 
See how 'twould matter much, I'll see 
If ist one turn will bother me." 

Nen I ist caught hold of the crank 

An give it wun big orfel yank ; 

But my pore hand caught in the weel, 

You orter heerd me give a squeel ; 

My ma she come a runnin quick, 

Nen said, "You'll pay, boy, fer that trick, 

See you have mashed two fingers, Ben." 

I cried, "I won't do it again!" 

It took two months till they got well 
And ever since that day, I tell 
The boys I'll do what pa says do, 
I think he knows what's best, don't you ? 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 139 

THE SARVES-BERRY TREE. 

On old Josiah Baker's farm, 

Down in the meadows green, 

There flowed a creek, and in springtime, 

The farmer's men were seen 

Making a dam, the water rose 

Until 'twas four feet deep. 

And in that place, in May, they'd wash 

The farmer's flock of sheep. 

A sarves-berry tree stood near 

That dam the men had made, 

We boys, who lived upon the farm, 

Oft played beneath its shade ; 

One year the tree was laden with 

Red berries, and you know 

What such a thing would mean to boys, 

It made their faces glow. 

A half a dozen of us climbed 
The tree and picked a share ; 
Before two hours many boughs 
On that tree looked quite bare ; 
One branch extended o'er the stream. 
With fruit 'twas bending low, 
O how we longed for it, but who 
Out on that branch would go? 

Then Jack McCall, a neighbor boy, 
Said, "I am not afraid!" 
And tho we urged him not to go. 
The reckless move was made ; 



140 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Out, out he went, right o'er the stream, 
Whack went the branch, a crash, 
And Jack, headfirst, plunged in the flood, 
With a tremendous splash. 

We brot him safely to the shore, 

Drenched to the skin he stood. 

We laughed and taunted him and said, 

"Jack, were the berries good?" 

He scampered quickly to his home, 

Which was not far away, 

His mother met him at the door, 

And we boys heard her say, 

"Yes, here you come again, did not 

I put clean clothes on you 

This very morning, and you've gone 

And wet them through and through?" 

Then she broke off a rod and said, 

"I'll larn you to get wet!" 

The tanning which she gave to Jack, 

He's not forgotten yet. 

WHAT THE TOOLS SAID. 

A lot of tools spread on a bench, 
A hammer and a monkey-wrench, 
A saw, a chisel and a square, 
A plane and auger lying there ; 
The auger said, "I'm feeling sore. 
My life is nothing but a bore!" 
"And I," the hammer said, "must pound 
And always be just knocked around!" 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 141 

To which the saw then made reply, 
'"Tis always on the go am I !" 
"And I must always turn about," 
The wrench replied, "now in, now out !" 
Then said the plane, "Just bear in mind, 
I always leave smooth paths behind !" 
The square replied, "I do declare, 
You'd be content if you were square!" 
Just then the chisel gave a shout, 
"We've heard enough, now cut it out!" 



WHEN I FIRST SAW MY SISTER IN A 
WHITE DRESS. 

Sister Lucy, flowers are growing 
On her grave, have been for years ; 
I have passed my fiftieth milestone, 
Yet my eyes will dim with tears 
When I think of her so lovely. 
How the dear girl, in distress. 
Said to mother, oh so often, 
"Mother, I want a white dress." 

Times were hard, there were so many 
Children of us, most were small. 
And it kept our father toiling 
To provide food for us all ; 
We boys, on our knees wore patches. 
And our girls dressed very plain. 
Many things indeed we wanted, 
But we longed for them in vain. 



142 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Lucy was but ten that summer, 
I was twelve, together we 
Roamed about o'er clover meadows 
Where the busy honey bee 
Flew from flower to flower, gath'ring 
Clover honey, rich and sweet, 
Which we knew, upon our table. 
Would be placed for us to eat. 

Ev'ry Sunday, bright and early, 
To the church, two miles away. 
We, both happy and light hearted. 
Went, and oft Lucy would say. 
As she glanced at her plain gingham, 
While our onward way we'd press, 
"All this summer I've been wishing 
That I had a neat white dress." 

It was one bright day in Autumn, 
I heard Lucy gently say, 
"Mother, now the summer's over, 
And I dress the same old way; 
O, I do hope that next summer, 
I will have my white dress sure !" 
Mother smiled and said, "I hope so, 
But you know we're very poor." 

It was late in cold December, 
She was taken very ill, 
Doctor said, 'twas scarlet fever, 
Four days later, cold and still. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 143 

I beheld my darling sister, 
While I wept in deep distress, 
In her coffin, oh so lovely, 
She was clad in a white dress. 

Darling sister, flowers are growing 
On her grave, have been for years, 
Soon, quite soon, I'll take my journey 
To that home where all my tears 
Will be wiped away, where Lucy 
To my bosom I will press. 
There more beautiful than ever, 
She will wear a pure white dress. 



THE MOONLIGHT SHADOWS ROUND MY BED. 

When I go to bed, an the moonlight 

Shines in froo the winder, I see, 

At the foot of my bed, a orful big head 

A lookin so ugly at me ; 

Nen over the cover comes creepin, 

A ugly big snake wiv green eyes. 

An ist overhead, above my warm bed, 

A orful big ugly bird flies. 

An when I look up at the ceilin, 

I see a big owl turnin roun, 

Nen I ist shiver so, fer the next thing I know, 

He'll hoot an nen come kerflop down, 

An what if he'd dig his claws into 

My skin an pull me out of bed ? 

Nen I grab my quilt quick an cover it thick 

All over my face an my head. 



144 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



But soon I peep out from in under 

The cover to see if they're gone ; 

An there, by my bed, I see a nice head 

Of the nicest an sweetest young fawn. 

An behind it I see a green parrot 

Wiv a pwitty top-knot on his head. 

An nen I ist say, "Come beauties we'll play," 

An nen they come up to my bed. 

Of course they is nothin but shadows ; 

I only play they is such fings ; 

It's fun fer to play, ev'ry nite while I lay 

On my bed, I see goblins wiv wings. 

An nen sich nice fawns an sweet birdies 

Aroun me in sich a nice heap, 

It's ist like a show, but the next fing I know, 

I'm snorin an ist sound asleep. 



THE WONDERFUL THINGS I SAW. 

I knew a boy who had a gun. 
Now what did that boy do? 
He gave a cough and then went off. 
And his gun went off too. 

I knew a man, and he was dumb. 
One morning he awoke. 
And, strange to tell, he tripped and fell 
Upon a wheel and spoke. 

I knew a girl, and she was deaf, 
On that I'll pledge my word ; 
One day, when warm, out on a farm, 
She saw a dog and herd. 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN 145 



I knew a poor blind carpenter, 
He was my son-in-law; 
Down by the brook, one day he took 
Hold- of his square and saw. 

I saw a bird that had no wings, 
That may seem strange to you; 
But, strange to tell, one day it fell 
Into a chimney and flue. 

Now what I've said may seem to you 
Quite wonderful, but I 
Can truly say, one summer day, 
I saw a big horse-fly. 



WHAT THE WIND CAN DO. 

The wind can roar and he can whistle, 
Can bend the tree and shake the thistle. 
Can toss the waves and wreck the vessel. 
Can break the limbs where sweet birds nestle, 
Can slam the door, and windows rattle. 
Can chill the pigs, the sheep and cattle. 
Benumb the boy who outdoors lingers. 
Can nip the nose and bite the fingers ; 
We sometimes wish that we could rout him, 
But still we cannot do without him. 



10 



146 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



4ri M 



emonam. 



IN MEMORY OF COLONEL THEODORE 
ROOSEVELT. 

Thou, too, O precious friend, from earth hast fled ; 

With sorrowing hearts, we lay thee in the tomb. 
Our hearts bowed low, while tears are freely shed, 

And fair Columbia's land is filled with gloom. 

Like fruit, unripened, by the wind is loosed 

From spreading branches, and falls to the ground. 

So thou, who value to our land produced. 
Wast early taken to thy rest profound. 

We mourn thee brother, bosoms swell with grief ; 

Too soon, we feel, thy spirit from us fled ; 
But, mid our sorrow, comes forth sweet relief, 

And we rejoice because thou art not dead. 

Death cannot touch, nor can it bear away 
A brave and noble spirit such as thine ; 

It can but steal thy precious mortal clay. 
And thy sweet presence force us to resign. 

Yet, fain would loving hearts have kept thee here; 

But no, the loving Lord of Paradise, 
Who from our eyes shall wipe each bitter tear, 

On joyful wings, commanded thee to rise. 

Now, with thy precious son, in battle slain, 
O joy unspeakable, thou now wilt dwell. 

And, with united hearts, forever reign 
With Jesus, Lord and King, Emmanuel. 



IN MEMORIAM 147 



Beneath the stately fir, upon the mound, 
Beneath which hes thy sacred mortal clay, 

Kind friends, in after years, will gather round 
To strew fresh flowers, and sweet tributes pay. 

And say, "Let us a monument here rear 

For him whose power all the world has felt ; 

And on it, only let one word appear, 

That name the world adores, just Roosevelt." 

Jan. 10. 1919. 

» » m 

TO REV. VV. J. MILLER, D. D., 

Pastor of Zion's Lutheran Church Graensburg, Pa., for elaven years. 
Died December 24. 1912. 

A precious and beloved friend, 
A tender brother, tried and true, 
Has left us, and with wounded hearts, 
And tearful eyes we bid adieu 
To him who served so faithfully, 
As shepherd of his flock, and led 
Them in the straight and narrow path, 
And broke for them the living bread. 

On Monday morn I clasped his hand, 
I gazed into his smiling face; 
That friendly look I'll ne'er forget, 
The genuine pure Christian g^acc, 
Which dwelt within his soul, shone forth 
Upon his faec, like that which shone 
On Mose's face, and that which crowns 
The saints around God's holy throne. 



148 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

But ere the day had closed, the stroke 
Of that grim reaper on him fell ; 
Ah! who knows what the day may bring? 
None but Omnicient God can tell. 
The reaper came and took our friend, 
Our hearts are broken, filled with grief, 
A cloud of gloom enshrouds us all, 
But out of it comes sweet relief. 

We find relief when we recall 
The many virtues of our friend, 
And that with Jesus, whom he served, 
A blest eternity, he'll spend ; 
Farewell, dear brother, soon, we too, 
The sea of life will have passed o'er, 
And then again we'll clasp thy hand 
On Canaan's bright and happy shore. 



TO CLARA BARTON. 

Founder of the American Red Cross Society 

Thy long and useful life has closed, 

Thy pilgrimage is o'er, 
Earth claims thy dust, now we behold 

Thy saintly face no more. 

Though earth may hide thy face from us, 

The memory of thee 
And of thy sympathetic works 

Will ever with us be. 



IN MEMORIAM 149 



The many soldiers of our wars 

Will e'er revere thy name, 
For they all well remember who 

To them in mercy came. 

Who ministered to them when they 

Lay wounded, stiff and sore, 
Who watched by them and nursed and brought 

Them back to health once more. 

Blest saint of God, rest thou in peace. 

In heaven thou shalt shine 
Forth as the sun and evermore 

Great glory shall be thine. 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 

A singer sweet, with talent rare. 

Has laid aside her pen ; 

Her voice is hushed, her saintly face 

We ne'er shall see again ; 

Her hands lie still, her soul has fled 

To heavenly realms above, 

To tread the sacred golden streets, 

To meet the God of love. 

Gone forth, yes gone forevermore ; 

Her pen lies silent, still. 

Never again will it e'er write 

Inspiring verse to fill 

Our hearts with joy, her last sweet line 

Has by her hand been penned. 

But 'tis God's way, His law decrees 

All things must have an end. 



150 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Dead? no, she only sleeps, she lives 

Still in the memory 

Of millions who still read her lines 

Filled with sweet melody ; 

Farewell, sweet singer ! rest in peace ! 

A useful life was thine; 

A bright light here, but brighter still, 

In heaven thou shalt shine. 



TO WILL CARLETON. 

Thou hast departed, brother! 
Thy tuneful voice is hushed. 
We now are bowed in mourning, 
Our hearts with grief are crushed; 
For, O it was so sudden 
The reaper came for thee, 
And bore thee gently upward 
Into eternity. 

Death seemed to be impatient. 
Seemed that it could not wait 
Until the age allotted 
Was reached by thee, the gate 
Of Paradise was opened, 
A still small voice said. Come, 
And to it thou didst hearken. 
And entered that blest home. 

Yet, though thou hast departed. 
Our sorrow shall be turned 
Of times to joy, recalling 
Thy verses which we learned ; 



IN MEMORIAM 151 



For thou hast left behind thee 
A priceless legacy 
Of songs which thou hast written 
With sweetest melody. 

Dead? no, thou still art living 

In hearts of millions, who 

Acquainted with thy writings, 

Have read them through and through ; 

To dust thy form may crumble 

And leave no sign nor trace 

Of hands which once were active. 

Or of thy friendly face. 

Yet, thou wilt still be with us, 
In spirit thou wilt dwell 
Among us and thy stanzas 
Year after year shall tell 
The story to the nations 
Of talent which was thine. 
Though many be forgotten, 
With glory thou shalt shine. 

Fan,'well then, brother poet, 
O may thy mantle fall 
On me, that I may answer 
As bravely to my call. 
That when I shall be summoned 
To cross the narrow sea, 
I, too, may dwell in glory 
And happiness with thee. 



152 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 

lovely bard, O singer sweet ! 
With joy I sing of thee ; 

Thy face no more on earth is seen, 

Yet thou dost speak to me 
Through thy sweet songs which I peruse, 

In them thy voice I hear, 
Thy precious lines inspire my soul, 

They're music to my ear. 

How oft I take thy book and read 

Those sweet lines o'er and o'er, 
"The Huskers," brings sweet memories 

Of happy days of yore; 
"The Barefoot Boy," O how it thrills 

One's very soul with joy, 
It carries me to days when I 

Was but a barefoot boy. 

And "Snowbound," how I love to read 

That poem through and through ; 
And dismal "Skipper Ireson's Ride," 

And "Barbara Freitchie" too ; 
Thanks be to God above, who gave 

Such power of mind to thee 
To pen those lines which helped to set 

The poor black bondman free. 

Oft when I take my pen to write, 
And pen line after line, 

1 think of thee and of the gift 
And power that was thine ; 



IN MEMORIAM 158 



Then earnestly I pray that thy 

Mantle might fall on me, 
And I write lines which shall free us 

From whisky slavery. 

TO HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 

Many have sung the praises of 
The bards beyond the broad deep sea, 
I now will sing of him who seems 
The greatest of all bards to me; 
He who in Portland, Maine was born. 
Who afterwards in Cambridge taught, 
And put in verse for old and young, 
His lovely sentiment and thought. 

Oft when I'm vexed with trials which 
My church-work daily lays on me. 
Thy precious book I take, its lines 
Bring to my soul felicity ; 
And peaceful rest, indeed, I find, 
Thy precious poems long and brief. 
As I peruse them line by line. 
Bring to my soul such sweet relief. 

The "Psalm of life," its words how sweet, 
O how they soothe the troubled mind ; 
For many years those precious lines 
Have brought sweet comfort to mankind. 
"The village blacksmith," how it cheers 
The heart bowed down with grief and care, 
It brings to mind those bygone days 
When we were happy, young and fair. 



154 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

And o'er and o'er, many a time, 

I read "Tales from a way-side inn," 

Those splendid tales, ah how they thrill 

My very soul with joy within ; 

And lovliest of all thy works 

Is that sad tale, "Evangeline," 

I read that tale and oft exclaim. 

What wondrous gifts indeed were thine! 

I would that it had been my lot 

To gaze but once upon thy face, 

And that I might have heard thy voice 

So full of tenderness and grace ; 

From earthly scenes thou hast gone forth 

To join the bright angelic choir. 

But thou hast left thy words behind. 

Sweet lines our young hearts to inspire. 

Whene'er I gaze upon the lines 

Which thy inspired soul hath wrought, 

I from my heart can truly say. 

Like a brave soldier thou hast fought, 

Not with the sword but with the pen, 

In many a battle fierce and long, 

And through the din of battle came 

Triumphant with melodious song. 

Though now thou liest in the tomb, 
And we no more thy face behold. 
Thou art not hid, we see thee still 
Within thy stanzas of pure gold ; 
Though years and ages pass away 
And generations come and go. 
Until time ends will live the name 
Of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



IN MEMORIAM 155 



TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

For the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Dr. Holmes. 
Aug. 29, 1909. 

Were Doctor Holmes alive today, 

He'd be an even hundred 
Years or age, but death's strong hand, 

The ties which bound us, sundered. 
And yet, not wholly so, for we 

To him are yet most tightly 
Bound, and today, we tribute pay 

His memory most rightly. 

When we were boys, in common school, 

How our young hearts delighted, 
On Friday afternoons when his 

Sweet poems were recited ; 
"The one boss shay," "The old man's dreams," 

The one I best remember. 
Was that about the stormy gale 

Which blew so in September. 

It thrilled my soul with joy to read 

About the clothes a flying, 
And how the lad, he wrote about. 

For many days was crying 
Because the wind came through the lines 

And hooked his Sunday breeches, 
And with a demonish delight. 

Rent them both seam and stitches. 

He said he'd ever mourn the loss 

That storm to him occasioned. 
But if he could have realized 

How young minds were emblazoned 



156 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

With the account he wrote of it, 
And how each boy's eyes gHstened 

With pleasure, and had he but heard 
Their laughter as he Hstened, 

I'm sure he would have ceased to mourn, 

And would, I do not doubt it, 
Have been so glad the storm occurred. 

So he could write about it, 
And give amusement to the boys 

And girls in all creation, 
For it is poetry like that 

Which edifies a nation. 

O Doctor Holmes, O gifted bard, 

O great and lovely poet! 
When thou didst pen those lovely lines, 

"The last leaf," didst thou know it, 
That thou, of all thy line of bards, 

And there was a large number, 
Wouldst be the last to close thine eyes. 

And take thy endless slumber? 

Thine eyes have closed, thou art not here, 

Thy soul in rest reposes, 
Thy pen lies still, thy brilliant mind 

No more sweet songs composes ; 
But in the hearts of many men 

Today thou still art living. 
And millions to thy memory, 

Are precious tributes giving. 



IN MEMORIAM 157 



Days will pass by, yea, centuries. 

And thousands, now begotten, 
Will pass away and very soon 

Their deeds will be forgotten; 
But until time itself shall end, 

And words no more be muttered, 
The lines which thou hast left behind, 

By mankind will be uttered. 

*«BI — ^C» — 'QBy 

TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

This poem was written Feb. 12, 1909, and recited by the author 
the evening of the same day, to a large audience In Greens- 
burg, Pa., which had assembled to celebrate the hundredth 
anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln. 

One hundred years ago today. 
Within a humble home there lay 
A baby boy, but none could see 
In him a man of destiny. 

But has it not been ever thus? 
Did those babes over whom much fuss 
Was made, ever achieve that fame 
Which gives man an immortal name? 

Ah no ! our history relates, 
The men who made the United States, 
Were once the boys whose brawny arms 
And sunburnt faces graced the farms. 

Elisha held the plow when he 
Was called by God and sent to be 
A comforter to Israel, 
He did his work, and did it well. 



15{S POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



And who will doubt but on that day 

When Lincoln, a small baby, lay 

Upon his mother's breast in bed, 

That God looked down from heaven and said, 

And thou, child, art ordained to be 

He who shall set the slaves all free. 

And thou shalt save, though with much pain, 

These states from being rent in twain. 

I have no need here to relate 
His almost countless deeds so great; 
No need that I the tale should tell. 
Each school-boy knows it very well. 

Today we pay, most fittingly. 
This tribute to the memory 
Of him who gave his life to save 
Our nation, and to free the slave. 

One hundred years have passed away 
Since he first saw the light of day, 
And forty-four since he laid down 
His life, to wear a martyr's crown. 

The shot of the accursed foe. 
In death, laid Abraham Lincoln low. 
But his good works they could not kill, 
Though dead he lives among us still. 

From us he never will depart. 
He lives in ev'ry loyal heart; 
The future years will pass away, 
But Lincoln's name will with us stay. 



POEMS DEDICATED TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 159 



poerrjx*^ ©ec^icafec^ ©To 

TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

Birthday greetings, October 7, 1912. 

Hey, Mr. Riley, glad you are here! 
You've been quite ill, we had grave fear, 
One year ago, that you would be gone 
Ere your birthday again would dawn. 

The hearts of young and old are glad. 
The charming lass, the roguish lad, 
Both join in shouts of joy and glee 
Whene'er your smiling face they see. 

And have they not great cause for joy? 
The merry girl, the laughing boy 
Well know who wrote those childhood rhymes 
Which made them laugh so many times. 

God grant you health, and may you live 
Three score more years, and to us give 
Still sweeter songs which shall be sung 
To cheer the hearts of old and young. 



160 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE WINDER. 

When the frost is on the winder and the snow Hes very 
deep, 

When the stock is kept in shelter and the Httle snowbirds 
creep 

In the strawstack in the barnyard and the purty quails in 
flocks, 

Are a seekin cozy shelter in amongst the fodder shocks, 

When the trees are ornamented and their branches bend- 
ing low 

With the weight of icy crystals and the fluffy flakes of 
snow, 

"Oh its then's the time a feller" in his cozy bed can sleep, 

When the frost is on the winder and the snow lies very 
deep. 

There's my friend, James Whitcomb Riley, out in In- 
dianapolis, 
Wrote a charmin little poem, and the first line runs like 

this, 
"When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in 

the shock," 
Then about the farmyard bipeds he proceeds to give a 

talk; 
There's no doubt the weather's bracin bout that season 

of the year, 
When the red and yeller apples and the cornshocks both 

appear. 
But come nov/, just go with me, while we take a little 

peep 
When the frost is on the winder and the snow lies very 

deep. 



POEMS DEDICATED TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 161 

See the fire burnin brightly in the cozy sittin-room, 
While outside the wind's a roarin with a whistle and a 

boom, 
See the children playin checkers and a readin story books, 
Oh, one gets such inspiration from the sweetness of their 

looks ; 
See old Grandpa with his paper as he sits and reads the 

news, 
See the baby with his rattle as he laughs and crows and 

goos, 
Oh 'tis on such stormy evenins that the children learn a 

heap. 
When the frost is on the winder and the snow lies very 

deep. 

When the water's frozen over and we hear the merry 

sound 
Of the sleighbells on the bosses as they dash with leap 

and bound. 
And the merry shouts of laughter of the happy boys and 

girls 
As one sleighload, then another up and down the high- 
way whirls ; 
True, the Autumn season's pleasant on a bracin frosty 

morn, 
When the farmers, filled with vigor, are a huskin at their 

corn, 
But I see a movin pictur that is grander, yes a heap. 
When the frost is on the winder and the snow lies very 

deep. 



11 



163 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

APPLE PICKING. 

When the Summer season's ended and bright Autumn 

has come round, 
And the schools again have opened, and upon the old 

playground, 
We behold the children rompin ere the master rings the 

bell 
Fer to call them into study and to learn their lessons well ; 
Then we older folks is huslin with our taters and our 

corn, 
Then it makes us git up early on a bright September 

morn, 
Fer so many things engage us when this season comes 

around, 
Fer 'tis then we reap our harvest from the produce of the 

ground. 

'Tis indeed an inpiration when a huslin farmer sees 
Red and yeller lucious apples ornamenting all his trees. 
And this season the Almighty has abundantly bestowed 
A large crop of apples on us, trees are bending with their 

load; 
I have Baldwin in abundance, and my red cheeked North- 
em Spies, 
Decoration spreadin branches, seem as plentiful as flies; 
Oh my heart was filled with raptur as I climbed into a 

tree 
To begin the crop to gether which the Lord had sent to 
me. 



POEMS DEDICATED TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 168 

All day long I kept a pickin and a pourin them around, 
Till I made it ornamental with the boxes on the ground, 
Which I filled with luscious Baldwin, Northern Spies and 

other kind. 
All the time I was a pickin there kept comin to my mind 
Words from Riley's charmin poem which I many times 

had read, 
Bout the frost upon the punkin and the lines in which he 

said, 
"Then your apples all is gethered and the ones a feller 

keeps. 
Is poured around the cellar floor in red and yeller heaps." 

Many things, indeed, delight us that we work at in the 

fall. 
But I find that apple pickin is the pleasantest of all, 
Fer 'tis when a feller's pickin that he thinks about the 

treat 
He will have on winter ev'nins, when his fambly all can 

eat 
These same red and yeller apples which he picked and 

stored away. 
Of the happy glad thangsgivin and the joyful Christmas 

Day; 
Do you wonder that the farmer feels so happy and so 

free. 
When he picks his crop of apples by the bushels from the 

tree? 



164 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

IN MEMORY OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 
1853-1916 

Oh my sweet singer friend ! can it be that thou art dead ? 
Who sang such sweet songs during years that have sped ; 
Sweet songs that brought cheer to the old and the young 
In the milHons of homes where'er they were sung. 
Oh the laughter of children and smiles of the old 
Were so very apparent when thy sweet rhymes were told ; 
But now all are mourning for my sweet singer friend, 
For his days here on earth have been brought to an end. 

Oh my sweet singer friend! at this moment my eyes 
Rest upon a small volume which before me now lies, 
Filled with sweet songs of thine, a present from thee, 
Which will be, all my days, very precious to me ; 
As I gaze on the pages I've read o'er and o'er. 
And I think that thy voice I shall hear nevermore. 
Floods of tears from my eyes o'er my cheeks downward 

roll. 
Ah, deep is the grief that now o'erwhelms my soul! 

Oh my sweet singer friend ! can it truly be said, 
That thou art not alive, that thou art really dead ? 
Oh no, 'tis not true! though thy voice now is hushed. 
And we weep and are sad, for with grief we are crushed. 
Yet still thou dost speak, the sweet melody 
Of thy many sweet songs, now is speaking to me ; 
The years will roll on but thy dear name will not. 
In the ages to come, by mankind be forgot. 



POEMS DEDICATED TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 165 

Oh my sweet singer friend! we lay thee to rest, 
May thy spirit take flight to the home of the blest, 
May thy mantle on me fall that I yet may sing 
Many songs that sweet cheer to the sad heart may bring, 
As thy songs oft to me brought sweet cheer and relief. 
When my heart was sore tried and deep was my grief ; 
Soon my call will come, too, and my days here will end, 
Oh then may I meet thee my sweet singer friend ! 



166 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



Qafriotlc S)oemx«>. 

THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1776. 

Liberty was in the very air 
In Philadelphia and ev'rywhere, 
Throughout each western colony, 
Rang the one phrase, We must be free ! 

Then came the Fourth day of July, 
The people met and raised the cry 
In that old quaker town, Shall we 
Today proclaim our liberty? 

Shall we proclaim, or shall we still 
Bow to the English tryant's will? 
Shall he his hold on us relax, 
Or will we meekly pay the tax? 

Shall we, like oxen, mutely stand 
And let that tyrant's bloody hand 
Plunge in our hearts his murderous dirk. 
Shall we our bounden duty shirk? 

What say you men, what is your will? 
One moment the whole crowd was still, 
No voice was heard, deep silence reigned, 
But men could not long be restrained. 

John Adams from his seat arose 
And in strong terms denounced his foes, 
As his immortal words were spoke, 
A fresh zeal in each heart awoke. 



PATRIOTIC POE MS 167 



"When I look back to sixty one, 
And past events in mind I run, 
I am surprised that at this date, 
This revolution is so great !" 

"Britain has been with folly filled, 
And by that folly she has killed 
Our love for her, sad to relate, 
It now is turned to bitter hate!" 

"With wisdom has our land been filled, 
The God of heaven has so willed. 
The countries shall forever be 
Sundered and our land be free!" 

"And it may alsO' be the will 
Of heaven that our nation still. 
Distresses be obliged to bear 
And of success may oft despair !" 

"But I submit my hopes and fears 
To God, it may take many years 
Of strife before contentions cease 
And we be left to dwell in peace!" 

The voice of Adams moved the crowd. 
The people shouted long and loud. 
Then did the Congress thus proclaim, 
"In the authority and name 
Of the good people here, that we 
Are and of right ought e'er to be 
Now free and independent states !" 
(The sacred document relates.) 



168 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

Great shouts of joy then rent the air, 
Throughout the city, ev'rywhere; 
Up in the tower, the old bell 
Rang out, the joyful news to tell. 

Ah yes, how joyful was the cry 

On that grand Fourth day of July! 

And after many years it still 

Rings through our land, o'er vale and hill. 

As that glad day comes round each year, 

Our patriotic souls to cheer. 

Let us remember what it cost 

Those patriots, and what they lost 

In property and lives that we, 

Their children might ever be free. 

July 4. 1908. 

AN INSANE FOURTH, HOW LONG? 

Another year has rolled around. 
Again we hear the deafening sound 
Like thunder in the distant sky. 
It is the Fourth day of July, 
And firecrackers ev'rywhere 
Throughout the land now rend the air; 
Halt ye, and gaze upon the scene. 
Ask what these reckless acts must mean! 

They mean that ere the day be o'er, 
Some briglit young boy will breathe no more ; 
Deep grief will many bright homes fill. 
In which a child lies cold and still 



PATRIOTIC POEMS 169 



In a small casket, his soul hurled 
Instantly to the spirit world, 
Who was it placed in that child's hand 
The cause, do we not guilty stand? 

How long, good citizens, shall we 
Permit this state of things to be? 
When our forefathers bled and died 
And on the field lay side by side 
To bring to us sweet liberty, 
'Twas not their wish that yearly we 
Should celebrate this glorious day 
In such a wild and insane way. 

Stop, read the list for but three years 
And you will find in it appears 
Thirty- four thousand killed and maimed! 
Oh horrible! I feel ashamed 
That I live in a city where 
Authorities will not declare 
Themselves against such insane work, 
How long will we our duty shirk? 

Arise, ye sons of liberty. 
Throw off the yoke, again be free! 
For children's lives have due regard, 
And dangerous methods now discard ; 
Throughout the land, in ev'ry state 
The glorious Fourth let's celebrate, 
From lake to gulf, from sea to sea, 
Let all rejoice that we are free. 



170 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

But let us be discreet and wise, 
Good judgement let us exercise, 
That proper methods may be used 
And no one's rights e'er be abused ; 
Let bands play airs, let people sing 
And then the close of day will bring 
Each to his bed in peace to sleep. 
And none bow o'er the dead to weep. 

July 4, 1910. 



SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. 

For years the cruel war had raged. 
Large companies had been engaged 
In battle and on either side. 
Many had suffered, bled and died ; 
The stubborn British still fought on, 
Although all hope to them seemed gone ; 
The patriots fought long and well. 
They stormed the foe with shot and shell. 

Yorktown had been well fortified, 
Cornwallis, though, was sorely tried ; 
He hoped, behind his strong redoubt. 
That he could keep our army out; 
But little did that general know 
That Washington and Rochambeau 
Would plant their armies round about 
His stronghold and would starve him out. 

The seige began, continued on, 
Cornwallis saw all hope was gone ; 
With ammunition 'bout all used, 
He knew that if he still refused 



PATRIOTIC POEMS 1 7J 



To yield, his army soon would be 
All slaughtered, so, in agony. 
He yielded to George Washington, 
America at last had won. 

Thus, after many years, the war. 
Which spread destruction near and far, 
Was brot to a successful close, 
America had won, our foes 
Embarked and sailed across the sea, 
America, our home, was free ; 
And now above the patriot's graves, 
The flag of freedom proudly waves. 



OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 

The Mayflower, the Mayflower! 
Oh how we love the name! 
Across Atlantic's broad expanse. 
Long years ago she came. 
Bringing her precious human freight 
To bleak New England's shore. 
It was that noted ship that brot 
Our Pilgrim Fathers o'er. 

The Mayflower, the Mayflower! 

The name to all is dear ; 

For was it not that ship which brot 

The men who planted here 

Religious liberty as firm 

As Plymouth Rock, where they. 

Weary and worn, first set their feet 

On that cold winter day? 



172 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

The Mayflower, the Mayflower ! 
The ship was very small 
Compared with ocean liners now, 
Which loom so long and tall; 
But never since has any ship, 
Which crossed the briny main, 
Brot to our fair Columbia's shore 
So large amount of gain. 

The Mayflower, the Mayflower! 
The pilgrims, which she brot, 
On bended knees, gave heaven thanks, 
And we, their children, ought 
Never to cease to thank our God, 
Who brot across the sea. 
Those pius pilgrims to proclaim 
Religious liberty. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS 173 



MY LAST JOURNEY. 

When my mission here has ended 
And I lay my burden down, 
And go forth to meet my Master, 
To receive the golden crown 
Which is promised to the faithful 
Who endure unto the end ; 
I shall see my blessed Savior 
Who through life has been my friend. 

(Chorus.) 
I shall lay my burden down, 
And receive the golden crown, 
I shall meet my blessed Savior 
Who through life has been my friend. 

the joy and blissful pleasure 
That will then be mine fore'er! 

1 shall dwell with saints and angels 
And their blessings I will share; 
In that bright and golden city 

On bright Canaan's blissful shore, 
At the right hand of my Savivor 
There are pleasures evermore. — Chorus. 

O that happy day is coming ! 

It cannot be far away. 

When I'll take my upward journey 

To that land of endless day ; 



174 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

When I hear my Savior calling, 

I will answer, Here am I, 

And on joyful wing I'll journey 

To that happy home on high. — Chorus. 



THE BLESSINGS OF AFFLICTION. 

Afflictions come, but not by chance. 
Nor do they from the ground arise, 
They may be heavy, but each one 
Is but a blessing in disguise. 

By faith I see the hand of God 
In all afflictions sent to me; 
Therefore I will rejoice because 
My future blessings they will be. 

^h ma ini 

SWEET COMMUNION. 

Break thou for me the bread of life, 
Dear Lord, and let me feed 
Upon that bread from heaven sent, 
That which is meat indeed. 

And let me drink of that blest cup 
Which represents thy blood 
Shed for my sins on Calvary, 
Where flowed that crimson flood. 

Wash thou my soul with thy shed blood. 

Take all my sins away, 

That I may at thy altar stand. 

Pure, undefiled this day. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS 175 



And let me ever live in hope, 
And ever watchful be, 
That I may hold commnnion sweet 
Forevermore with thee. 



CONTENTMENT. 

My life is in the hands of God, 

I'm here to do his will. 
To be a blessing to mankind. 

My caUing to fulfill. 

Whate'er he bids me I will do, 

I'm willing to be sent 
On any mission, and where'er 

I am to be content. 

E'en though the path, he bids me tread, 

Be rough and full of care; 
I'll journey on, for He, my guide, 

Is with me ev'rywhere. 

g • g 



JOHN THE BAPTIST COMPARED WITH THE 
TRAVELING EVANGELISTS OF TODAY. 

From out the wilderness he came. 

He sought for neither wealth nor fame ; 

One thing alone his soul desired. 

That ev'ry human soul be fired 

With zeal to do the Father's will, 

His sacred precepts to fulfill; 

Thus he came forth the Word to preach, * 

And hearts of sinful men to reach. 



17G POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 

He preached there in that desert land, 
That heaven's kingdom was at hand; 
To win the hearts of men he sought, 
The Bible truths he plainly taught; 
In politics he took no part, 
His object was to reach the heart 
Of ev'ry man and make it pure, 
For ev'ry ill, that was his cure. 

He wore no costly broadcloth suit. 
No pattened leather shoe nor boot. 
Nor did he of rich food partake. 
He did not dine on chops nor steak. 
His garb was camel's hair, his food 
Was locusts gathered in the wood, 
And honey found upon the trees, 
Could we now live on things like these? 

Now, where's the man who ever heard 
That he e'er said, I'll preach the Word 
In cities, if for me you'll build 
A tabernacle, which, when filled, 
Will seat about five thousand men. 
This I demand of you, and then 
Demand I that you guarantee 
Five thousand dollars raised for me. 

Our trav'ling preachers, verily. 
Do not do things the same as he ; 
No, they are seeking for renown, 
They want the pastors of the town 
To hustle round and do the work, 
The part they readily will shirk, 
And when their loud campaign is done, 
They make their boast of converts won. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS 17' 



Ah, Christian friends! we do, indeed, 
More men like John the Baptist need ; 
Men who will settle down and teach 
In humble districts and will preach 
The Gospel in its purity, 
A John the Baptist I would be ; 
Rise, Christian friends, and put to rout 
These rattle-brains who run about. 

■( »-<3e - <8" 

THAT HOME OF ENDLESS DAY. 

This life's a wilderness of woe. 
Sorrow I find where'er I go; 
I long to dwell beyond the skies 
Where tears shall ne'er bedim my eyes ; 
I look upward unto my Lord 
Who tells me in His precious Word, 
That God shall wipe my tears away, 
In that bright land of endless day. 

I would not wish to make my home 
In this sad world, and e'er to roam 
Where pain and sorrow, grief and woe 
Oppress my soul, I long to go 
To yonder shore, my Lord to see, 
O how I long with Him to be, 
For God shall wipe my tears away, 
In that bright land of endless day. 

Here, wearily, I tread this road. 
And groan beneath this heavy load 
Of sin and sorrow, pain and woe, 
But as I on my journey go, 
12 



178 POEMS FOR ALL CLASSES 



My heart is cheered, for God tells me, 
From toil and care I'll soon be free, 
For all my tears He'll wipe away, 
In that blest land of endless day. 

Though I should live a hundred years, 
And ev'ry one be filled with tears. 
Should grief and pain my whole life fill, 
I'll bow submissive to His will; 
E'en though my tears in torrents flow, 
I'll not despair, for well I know 
That God shall wipe them all away, 
In that bright home of endless day. 

Lord Jesus, be my constant guide, 

Daily with me through life abide. 

And through all griefs and woes which come 

Lead thou me safely to that home. 

To those blest mansions pure and bright. 

Where all is joy, where all is light. 

Where God shall wipe my tears away. 

In that bright home of endless day. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS 179 



GOOD BYE. 

And now, dear patient reader, I bid you a kind fare- 
well. My desire has been not only to entertain but also 
to instruct. Remember that, after all, the poet is only a 
mortal man and is subject to all the frailties of the 
human race. 

I have made an honest effort to please and I believe I 
have, to some extent, succeeded. Criticise me if you 
will; it will do me good. But before you lay this vol- 
ume aside, will you not fold your hands and offer this 
simple prayer? Heavenly Father, bless the author of 
this work. Endow him with wisdom from heaven, that 
in all his works he may be guided by thy spirit. May his 
writings bring happiness and cheer to millions of people, 
and glory to thy name. For Jesus' sake, Amen. 



